Vaster Than Empires
by Ayezur
Summary: AU. Early summer, 1601. The Western Army is defeated; the country stands, uneasy, under the hand of the Tokugawa. Kaoru Kamiya, whose family was on the losing side, has been sold into marriage for the sake of peace. Her new husband is a legend, a demon bound in human form, marked by his blood-lust and his bright red hair. However, legends have a way of being not exactly... true.
1. a gentleman in a dustcoat trying

**A/n: Hi. This is also Alina's fault, but it's less silly than the other one. **

**This AU is historical fiction, _heavy_ on the fiction. There will be inaccuracies. I will straight make things up for the sake of getting the plot where I need it to go. I'm trying not to be any worse with history than Watsuki was; however I will probably get at least one thing hilariously wrong per chapter. I'll fix what I can as we go along, but don't expect my historical accuracy to exceed James Clavell's, here, because I am only mortal.**

**I'm borrowing some of the characterization/history of the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu from _Crescent Moon over the Warring States_. We'll get into it later on. Bear with me for now.**

**Here we go.**

**Belated: WHY DIDN'T ANY OF YOU PEOPLE TELL ME THE LINE BREAKS GOT STRIPPED.**

* * *

The day of her wedding dawned soft and grey. Kaoru refused her breakfast and sat on the porch outside her room, watching the mist rise from the courtyard garden. Her father had designed a garden for her mother, long before she was born, planting every sprout and sapling with his own hands. Even after her death he had never suffered another to tend it, and her last memory of him was this: her father standing at the edge of the shallow pond under the maple tree, and the leaves drifting down like bloody snow.

_Our lives do not belong to us, Kaoru_, he'd told her, breaking off a single slender twig and handing it to her. _You know that._

_But why do you have to go?_ she'd wanted to ask. A child's question, when she was no longer a child. Should he stay, and watch his brothers and cousins send their sons to die? Such a thing was unconscionable. So he had gone to war, and she'd placed the twig and the leaf that clung to it on the family altar, praying that he would return.

The door to the hallway opened.

"My lady." Tae knelt and bowed to her, a handful of junior maids scattered behind her like migrating geese. "It's time."

"Of course," Kaoru said, and smiled.

They dressed her in layers of white silk, winding her like a corpse in a shroud, and when they were done she could only move in small, slow steps. A lady's steps, delicate and graceful. Not her own: not her long warrior's strides that ate up the ground.

Her little sisters came in to watch with awed eyes, and she smiled and laughed and accepted their compliments because they must not know, they _would_ not know. Not from her lips. She would never let them know that father's promise had been broken, and if that meant pretending she had chosen this, then she would pretend with all her heart.

"You're beautiful, m'lady," Tae said, holding a mirror up for her to see.

She looked into it and saw a stranger staring back.

"Thank you, Tae," she said anyway.

One of her uncle's retainers knocked on the screen, bowing as he opened it.

"Is all in readiness?"

"Yes," Kaoru said, letting Tae help her to her feet. "Is there time to stop at the altar, first? I should say goodbye."

The soldier looked at her for a moment, and she held his gaze. An understanding passed between them, and he nodded. His eyes held a terrible compassion.

So they walked the long way around the new house in the new capitol, to the room that held the great altar. She bowed before each ancestor's memorial, lighting incense and praying, and tried to imprint the memory of the place in her soul.

Eventually, her escort began to shift nervously. She was taking too long; if she lingered, it might insult her husband.

Before she left, she took the twig and its blood-red leaf from her father's altar and tucked it into her wedding kimono, over her heart.

Her clan was assembled in the forecourt to see her off: her aunt and uncle, her cousins in the first through third degrees, chief retainers and their wives and those children old enough to stand still and not disrupt the ceremony. They flanked the path to the gate where her wedding palanquin waited at the head of her bridal procession.

Her husband stood beside it, holding the reins of a stolid grey mare. He was a smaller man than she'd expected: compact and agile, with ruddy hair drawn up in topknot.

And despite her morning of meditation, despite all her prayers for calm and her fierce self-discipline, fury flared in her heart. So the clan needed her – so what? How did that give them the right to trade her like so much meat, to sell her like a chest of kimono to a murdering _bastard_ –

Her father's voice echoed in her memory.

_Our lives do not belong to us, Kaoru_.

But he'd _promised_: sworn to her mother, _on his swords_, that their daughters would be free to choose, that they would never need to fear the unknown and gamble with their lives and bodies as the stakes that their husband would be a good man…

And her father was _dead_. And her uncle headed the clan. And if she did not do this, then all hope would be lost. Her family would be masterless, landless, without status or wealth or holdings, and what would become of her sisters then?

Her shoulders drew back and she raised her head, knowing that it distorted the lines of her wedding kimono and not caring one whit that the cloth wanted her to bow her head and yield. Her life did not belong to her, and never had: but her mind and heart and soul were hers to command. This man she had been sold to would only ever have the least part of her. That much, she could be sure of.

Kaoru walked into her future, standing tall

* * *

She held on to her defiance as she swayed in her palanquin, peering at the busy Edo streets though the barred window. Passers-by stopped and bowed respectfully as the lavish procession passed. Then they noticed the man riding next to her and began to whisper and crane their heads, hoping to catch a glimpse of the demon's bride. She turned and looked steadfastly forward, denying them the sight of anything more than her profile through the slats.

She kept her back straight and her core strong as they arrived at his manor, nestled in the shadow of the shōgun's palace, and refused to be afraid. Instead, she fixed her eyes on her husband's back as she followed him into the great hall and held her face in careful neutrality as they knelt side by side. The priest spoke his words and waved his branches; she sipped sake that she couldn't taste; and then they were married.

The reception was a tense, quiet affair, broken only when her sisters suddenly threw themselves onto the dais and into her arms, wailing that they would miss her. The room drew a frightened breath and every eye fixed on her husband, wondering how he would respond. Kaoru ignored them as pointedly as she could.

"It's not so bad," she told her sisters briskly as they sniffled into her skirts. "I'll be home for the first visit in just three days, remember? And I'll come see you whenever I can after that."

"Promise?" Ayame looked up at her with tearstained eyes.

"_Double_ promise?" Suzume chimed in.

"_Triple_ promise," she said, holding her sister's hands, and that completed the spell.

She felt her husband's eyes on her.

"Can we stay with you until the party's over?" Ayame asked, all artlessness.

"Well," Kaoru said, smoothing her hair. "I'm not sure…"

"Let them stay," he husband said abruptly. It was the first time she'd heard his voice. It was gentler than she'd thought it would be.

"They can stay," he said again. She risked a glance at him, but his eyes were fixed on his food and shielded by his strange, light hair. Dyed by the blood of his victims, so the stories said, and it could almost be the color of dried arterial blood in the diffused candlelight.

"Thank you, my lord husband," she said carefully, bowing as much as she could without dislodging her headdress. The words felt strange in her mouth. He shrugged – _it's nothing_ – and the room exhaled.

Her sisters stayed with her until it was time for all the guests to leave. They played together, and sang and told stories, and she burned every moment into her heart. But she could feel her husband's eyes on her the entire time and wanted to shudder.

* * *

Her courage faltered as the reception ended and she was ushered into the bath house to be prepared for her wedding night. Tae had established dominion over the household in the hours since the ceremony and seen to it that everything was exactly as Kaoru preferred, from the temperature of the water to the lightly-scented incense burning in a high nook. She dismissed the attendants – Kaoru preferred to cleanse herself – and stayed behind, because of course Kaoru could not be left entirely alone. Not in circumstances such as this.

Steam rose from the tub, filling the room. Kaoru perched herself on the bench and scrubbed automatically, taking none of her usual pleasure in the process.

Tae sighed from the corner where she knelt silently, watching over Kaoru as she had since her mother died.

"What is it?" Kaoru stood, dumping a final bucket of water over herself before climbing into the bath.

"I only wish there was something I could do, dear," Tae said quietly. "Your father…"

The water was bone-meltingly hot, just as she liked it, and Kaoru sank into it with a grateful sigh. On top of everything else, her wedding regalia had been as heavy as armor and twice as constricting. At least she would go to her sacrificial bed without knotted muscles.

"Don't talk about it," she said firmly. "It doesn't do any good."

"Are you sure you can go through with this?"

"It's a little late for second thoughts, Tae." Kaoru rested her folded arms on the side of the tub. "What choice do I have?"

"There are ways…" Tae said vaguely. "Whatever the stories say, he still has a man's body. And I'm sure you remember…"

"I know." She remembered Tae's lessons: herbs and potions and small woman's magics, to ensure children of one sex or the other, to inspire and to stifle desire, to protect against fire and disease and evil omen. "But… if he doesn't – if he's not _happy_… What if he divorces me, and disclaims our clan? Then…"

She closed her eyes.

"I have to do this," she said, small and frightened. "I have to."

Tae made no further objections.

Kaoru stayed in the tub until one of the maids entered, trembling, and informed her that her lord husband awaited her. Then she rose, toweled herself dry, and donned a thin silk sleeping robe. The maid tried to help her and Tae shooed her off, casting an apologetic glance at Kaoru. It made her smile, a little. They didn't know her here, not yet; it had been a long time since the staff at her family home had tried to coddle her.

She walked along the covered stone path across the garden to the porch and the open bedroom door. Her husband knelt at the head of the joined futons, waiting for her. He was also dressed for bed, and had taken his hair out of its topknot and drawn it back at the nape of his neck. She knelt across from him, and her damp hair spread heavy across her back.

"Forgive the delay, honored husband," she said, bowing so deeply that her forehead brushed the mats. "I beg your patience in the coming days."

"It's no trouble," he said, in that same unexpectedly warm tone. "It's been a long day for us both, so it has."

She straightened, then; to her immense surprise, he bowed as well.

"One prays for your patience in the days ahead as well, honored wife," he said. Then he sighed. "But, as it has been a long day, perhaps we should retire."

"As you wish, my lord." She froze like a rabbit in the jaws of a wolf, numb-fingered, unable even to fight her fate. Her heart raged in her breast as she stared at the mats, refusing to close her eyes, and waited for the first hard touch of his hands.

"Sleep well, my lady wife," he said, and she heard cloth rustle.

She looked up, confused. He stood, smiling down at her – he smiled like a little boy, clear and guileless – and bowed slightly to her as he left the room.

And Kaoru had no idea what to think.

* * *

They'd told her the name of the man she was to marry after the peace accords were settled: signed, sealed, and witnessed, and she was part of them. Her hand was given to their new lord as surety that her clan would not be cast entirely aside. It was the only concession that her uncle had been able to wring and so he had agreed blindly, selling her into an unknown fate to save them all.

She'd known that she was to be sold, but had only learned to whom a week before her wedding. Her uncle had come into the room where she was waiting, family elders filing behind him, and they had all knelt and bowed low as priests to an honored sacrifice.

Then her uncle had looked up at her, pity and horror warring on his face, and told her who her husband would be.

Her first thought had been: _this is not real_. But her senses had told her otherwise, and it seemed to her that she had never felt the world so keenly. The noon sun had filtered through the shoji and scattered, sheathing the world in a terrible radiance. Somewhere far away, she had heard her little sisters playing. Or perhaps they were some other children.

No, she'd decided, they would be her sisters. She would accept her fate with their fearless laughter in her ears.

And she'd returned his bow, just as deeply.

"Thank you, honored uncle," she said clearly, "for this chance to serve the clan."

But she hadn't been able to keep a bitter smile from her face.

They had sold her to shōgun's demon, to the man who had cut a bloody swath through the Hojo and turned the tide at Sekigahara. The man who was, according to rumor, not truly a man at all but a monster bound in human form. Where he walked, it was said, he left bloody footprints; and the scar that marked his face would open and run red when battle-lust was on him. He could cross a room in the blink of an eye and kill five men with each swing of his sword, a sword that drank the blood of those it slew.

He had killed his first wife with his own hands for her disloyalty, and would do the same to anyone who betrayed him.

So she was not to be a bride after all, but a sacrifice.

That was what she had resigned herself to. She had prepared for her wedding as for her death in battle, ready to yield up her body for the honor of the Kamiya. And then her husband had bid her goodnight with a gentle smile and left. As if she was nothing more than a houseguest.

Kaoru rose slowly to her feet, fists clenched. She took a deep breath and let the cool twilight air sit in her lungs for a heartbeat before she expelled it slowly.

Then she marched into her adjoining suite, almost slamming the door behind her. Tae scrambled up from where she had been unpacking.

"My lady…?"

"Nothing happened," she ground out.

"Nothing…?"

"Nothing," and her knees went suddenly weak, "happened. Nothing at all…"

Then Tae was at her side, supporting her as all the rage and fear she had knotted up inside herself came flooding out. She sobbed into her nurse's side, and Tae crooned to her, rocking, as though she were a little girl again.

"He didn't touch me," Kaoru gasped out between sniffs. "He didn't even – Tae, I don't understand!"

Tae shushed her, stroking her hair, and managed to coax her onto the futon she'd prepared, in case Kaoru's husband was the sort who preferred to sleep separately once the marital duties were done.

"There now, my lady," Tae said softly. "Rest. Things will be easier to make sense of in the morning."

Kaoru wanted to protest: she was not a child. But she had been strung tight as a bowstring for days now and to have that tension suddenly relieved was too much to bear. And it was so easy to sink under the covers, curl into a ball, and pretend that nothing had changed. That Ayame and Suzume were in the next room, tangled in their bedding, and her father's garden was outside, and when she woke up it would be to the smell of miso and the sound of her sisters protesting the early hour, or chattering about a festival, or arguing over who would wear a favorite ribbon.

She choked back another sob.

"What am I going to _do, _Tae?"

"For now?" Tae leaned over and blew out the lamp. "Nothing, little one. Do nothing. Wait and see."

"But…"

"Patience is not weakness, Kaoru." Tae's voice was firm. "You're tired, dear heart. You'll only chase yourself in circles if you try sort it all out now."

She wanted to protest, but the blankets were heavy and warm around her, and the room was dark and silent, and she _was _tired, as tired as she had ever been. Also, there was a strange scent in the air, gentle and soothing and it made her eyes feel so very heavy…

"…Tae?"

"Hmm…?"

"Did you… incense…?"

"Of course. You need your rest, after all," Tae said serenely.

But Kaoru was already asleep.

* * *

The moon had risen and was glowing soft through the clouds, like foxfire in mist. Kenshin let his head fall against the wooden pillar on the porch outside his room and half-closed his eyes, softening the stark lines of the garden. A flask of sake and a cup sat on a tray next to him; some of it had been poured and left untouched, cooling in the night air.

"The full moon in autumn, was it?" he said quietly, to no one in particular; the only person who would have understood the comment was years and miles away. "It's only gibbous, tonight."

The day had been grey, not wet but threatening wetness. The rains would start soon.

He let his hand rest on his sword, drawing comfort from its presence.

The shōgun's demon. Lord Tokugawa had very nearly smiled when he'd first heard the name; it had been a public audience, after all, and more than that would be uncouth. Later, in private, he'd roared with laughter and slapped Kenshin on the back, proud of his retainer, proud of the legend that added to his esteem, and amused beyond words at how a thing could be both true and not.

Kenshin sighed, reaching for the sake, and then thought better of it. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. Sake wasn't going to help. The house was different now, and he just wasn't going to get any rest until he'd accustomed himself to the feel of the new lives within it, to their rhythms and natures. All that drinking would do was get him drunk, and his wife was frightened enough as it was.

Instead, he tucked his arms in his sleeves and settled cross-legged against the pillar.

It wasn't as if he'd wanted to marry her. He'd never met her, never even seen her face until that morning. Lord Tokugawa had summoned him two weeks ago and told him he was to marry, and he had bowed low.

"Eminence," he'd said carefully, pressing his fingers hard against the mat. "One is honored by your concern. However – "

"You have no desire to marry again. I know." The great man had snorted, disturbing the hawk perched on his wrist, and he'd taken a moment to soothe her. "It's not healthy for a man to live his whole life without a woman. You don't even have a favorite courtesan, for heaven's sake – don't argue with me, Himura."

Kenshin had been about to protest further. He'd sat up and back on his heels, instead.

"Forgive one's impertinence, my lord," he'd murmured.

"I'm wary of this clan," Lord Tokugawa had continued, fussing with the hawk's jesses. "I admire their tenacity; I'm told their former lord died well. But they still remain a dagger at my back, and I need strong, loyal hands to bring them to heel. Which your previous experience leaves you well equipped to do."

And Kenshin hadd tried to hide it, really; but he'd known what had been written on his face.

"Is it your belief, then, that one will be called upon…?"

"No," his lord had said, flatly. "I do not refer to that _particular _incident. Only to what came before."

"If this is your will, then," he'd said, bowing again, because there was nothing more to say, "one will fulfill it."

"Himura." Lord Tokugawa had said it casually, as if it had no weight: and why not, when they were in the presence of retainers and subordinates who had no need to understand. "Regarding that specific incident… should such a thing be required once more, I will grant you the request I have previously denied."

"Thank you. My lord."

"You are dismissed."

And that had been that. He'd left the arrangements to his lord and resigned himself to the situation.

He closed his eyes completely, head drooping forward, and sighed heavily as he fingered the binding on the hilt of his sword.

His new wife had been crying. He hadn't intended to hear it, but he'd started pacing out of sheer habit and forgotten that those rooms were inhabited, now. So he'd passed by them, instead of avoiding them, and heard it. Only for a moment before he'd hurried on, ashamed of invading her privacy; but he hated that he was so terrible a fate, and hated that he hated it, because what right did he have spy on her private anguish? He wasn't the one who'd been sacrificed.

Kenshin cast a longing glance at the sake. Then he reached out and carefully overturned the flask, pouring the alcohol into the soil. There. Temptation removed.

He was too honest when he drank. If he drank, he might go to her – after all, she couldn't keep him out. He might go to her and try to explain: that he wasn't a demon, that he would never hurt her, that he would honor and protect her even if he hadn't noticed and admired her pride and her courage, her tender care for her sisters and the sheer flint-edged _stubbornness_ glinting out from those deep blue eyes…

…and then she'd come into the bedroom still damp from her bath, jasmine-scented steam wreathing her like gauze and her long hair spreading across her shoulders and down her back. It had wet the silk of the bathrobe, made it cling to her body, and he'd been able to see the outline of her hard curves. She'd knelt in front of him like a warrior going into battle, all her strength and her terrible resolve offered up to him as tribute. In one searing moment, he'd wanted it to be real. For her to be coming to him as a bride, and not a sacrifice. So that he'd have an excuse to reach out and smooth the damp strands of hair from her eyes, to cup her face in his hands and…

Kenshin groaned and slammed his head back against the pillar. Then he stood up, rubbing gingerly at the lump.

Right. No sleep. No drinking. Only one option left.

He picked up his sword and headed for the dojo.

* * *

Kenshin had dozed a little towards the end of the night, propped against the wall of the dojo with his sword in his arms. Not true sleep, only a resting of the eyes. He had been too keenly aware of the changes in his environment for that, too uncertain of what tomorrow would bring.

He'd half-expected the lady to plead exhaustion and sleep in, the better to avoid her demon-groom. Yet when he padded wearily into the dining room an hour or so after dawn she was already there, kneeling beside a small raised tray with her hands crossed demurely on her lap.

"…good morning, honored wife." He lingered in the doorway, suddenly unsure. "Did you sleep well?"

"Very well, honored husband." Her voice was carefully even, betraying no emotion. "Please forgive the delay. The meal should be ready shortly."

"That's fine," he said absently, edging into the room. "Have you eaten yet?"

A light blush crossed her face and he thought: of course not. Nor could she, now that he was here: a wife's duty was to serve her husband, and she would have to delay her own breakfast until he was done. If he'd been thinking he would have lingered in the dojo for another hour, or taken a bath, done_ something_ to give her a chance to eat before she had to attend to him.

"Himura, you idiot," he muttered to himself, and only realized he'd said it aloud when she looked up suddenly. "On second thought," he said quickly, covering. "One would prefer to bathe, first. Please inform – "

But the door to the kitchen was already sliding open and three maids were filing in, eyes downcast. Two of them he vaguely recognized; he didn't really know any of the household servants, but he'd learned their faces as much as he could when they were so careful to never meet his eyes. The third, whom he'd never seen before, moved with graceful assurance and knelt next to Lady Kaoru, ignoring him completely as she set a tray of tea things in front of the lady.

"My lady."

"Thank you, Tae," Lady Kaoru murmured. "That will be all."

The maid looked up then, and a strange looked passed between her and her lady, questioning and reassuring. The loyal retainer in attendance, in the last moment before the final battle.

Kenshin looked away from the little drama in front of him, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It said something about Lady Kaoru, that she could inspire someone to follow her into the demon's lair. Confirmed it, really; he'd noticed it as soon as her little sisters had thrown themselves at her skirts, bawling. He could _feel _the pain and fear radiating from her but she'd hidden it from them, smiling and assuring them without words that everything would be fine.

One hand, hidden behind his back, clenched into a fist.

The maids left, filing obediently after Tae like ducklings following their mother, and Kenshin turned his attention back to the lady. Her shoulders straightened and her chin rose fractionally: he could almost see the white cloth wrapped around her legs and the dagger in her hands, rising towards her neck –

He looked sharply away.

"Please, honored husband," she said, bowing. "Won't you partake of the morning meal?"

Kenshin forced a smile onto his face and took a step into the room.

"Since it has already been prepared." He knelt at the tray holding his meal. "One is honored to receive it."

Lady Kaoru poured a cup of tea and offered it. He declined it quietly, watching her only from the corner of his eyes.

"One prefers not to drink at meals."

"I see."

She knelt silently at right angles to him. He studied her profile as much as he could without making it obvious that he was staring. She was… pretty. Not beautiful – he'd seen beautiful – but there was an indescribable _realness_ to her that the oiran and the court beauties lacked. They were ephemeral creatures, all smoke and silk and moonlight on water, and she was – solid, and _there_, warm in a way that the beauties he'd known never were. The kind of warmth that a man could curl himself around, safe in the knowledge that he would never freeze again…

_A_ man. Right. Not _this_ man.

But he still couldn't tear his eyes away.

He finished his rice and held out the bowl for more without thinking. She took it, and as she did so the tips of their fingers brushed together. It shook him to the bone and he froze, hand outstretched as though he was grasping for her sleeve.

"Honored husband?"

She was looking straight at him, confusion in her eyes and a dawning… fear. Of course. What else could he expect, when he was acting so strangely?

"Apologies," he said shortly, rising. "It seems one was not so hungry after all. The fault is not the cook's – it was a feast. One only seems to have no appetite this morning."

And now he was babbling. He turned quickly towards the door, almost knocking over the tray.

"One should prefer to take a bath now, so I should. If anything is required, one will be in dojo today, I will. Even in peaceful times, one's sword must be kept sharp, mustn't it?"

The lady was staring at him now, and he saw her thoughts written in those blue eyes that a man could spend his life drowning in: _not only a demon, but a blithering lunatic_. Kenshin closed his eyes briefly, pained.

"Your pardon, please. Honored wife."

And then he fled, wondering if there were enough words for all the kinds of idiot he was.

* * *

There was a summons from Lord Tokugawa waiting for him when he got out of the bath. The shōgun would be holding court in the gardens of Grand Outer Palace in the Inner Citadel, and requested his presence as soon as he was available. It was gently phrased, given that it _was_ the day after his wedding, but it was still an order; so Kenshin donned his black court clothing and went, hair drying on the way.

An audience was already underway when he arrived. A lord he didn't recognize was kneeling on the platform below the shōgun, in the middle of some indirectly phrased petition about something or other. Kenshin settled himself quietly by the door and tried to pay attention.

"…therefore, given the situation, we of the Mōri clan beg His Eminence to reconsider the decision to relocate our capitol so far from the lands which we have always held and defended."

The lord was young, Kenshin realized belatedly, barely past his coming-of-age. Not the head of the clan, then, but a representative. The tall black court cap sat awkwardly on him, not quite fitting. The boy did an admirable job of keeping himself under control, but he could see the nervous energy crackling in the young man's veins. Lord Tokugawa frowned.

"And where is Lord Mōri? Why does he send another to petition on his behalf?"

The boy swallowed. "My lord uncle's health is not good," he said weakly. "It was determined by his doctors that he should not travel at such a time."

"Hmph." Lord Tokugawa looked down at the papers on the desk in front of him, shuffling through them. It was a ploy, Kenshin knew, used either to buy time or increase the tension. Probably that latter, in this case. "Lord Mōri led the Western Army, did he not?"

"He was one of the commanders of that force, Eminence. Yet, _our_ forces were not present for the battle, instead being deployed to protect Lord Toyotomi at Osaka…"

"An admirable cause." The Shōgun looked down at the papers again. "And yet, it displays a certain cowardice."

"…Eminence?" The boy paled, and Kenshin stifled a sigh.

"If Lord Mōri had displayed the courage to openly oppose me, I would have granted him an honorable death," Lord Tokugawa said sharply. "Similarly, had he been decisive enough to side with me, his boldness would have recognized. Yet, Lord Mōri chose the path of least resistance, neither devoting himself wholly to his overlord nor daring to stand against him. A lord who cannot commit does not deserve to have his commitments honored. My decision stands."

The boy was white as rice paper now, save for two spots of red rage high on his cheeks. He bowed low.

"I apologize for troubling you with this impertinent request, Eminence."

"See that you do not trouble me again. Dismissed."

The boy stood, gathering his robes around him, and went to leave. Then he spotted Kenshin sitting by the door, and against all reason and biological probability managed to get even paler. Kenshin looked away.

He couldn't move out of the way. He outranked the boy. To yield before him would dishonor the status Lord Tokugawa had bestowed on him and therefore, by extension, Lord Tokugawa. So he was just going to have to sit here, politely ignoring the situation, until the boy found the nerve to pass within inches of the shōgun's demon.

The boy's throat worked. Then he stared straight ahead and marched past. Well. Points for courage, if not for brains; then again, he was only the messenger and Lord Mōri never had been the quickest thinker, so it was hardly fair to blame him for the petition he'd had to deliver.

"Lord Himura," the shōgun said, inclining his head in greeting. "We did not expect you to join us so early."

"Eminence." Kenshin bowed. "One came as soon as the summons was received."

"Ah." The very mildest hint of disapproval, there, and Kenshin found himself hard-pressed to care. An order to marry was not an order to bed, after all. "Come, take your proper seat."

"As my lord wishes," he said blandly and moved to the head of the chamber, taking his place on the platform below the shōgun, at his right side.

"And how is your honored wife?"

"The honorable lady is… adjusting, Eminence."

"Oh?"

"One does not believe the lady had ever traveled before arriving in Edo for our wedding," Kenshin invented furiously. "It was a tiring experience."

"I see." That seemed to satisfy him, and he gestured to the retainer closest to the door. "Bring the next one in." Then, quietly, to Kenshin specifically. "Pay attention to this one; I want your thoughts on it."

The morning of audiences dragged on, and despite his best efforts Kenshin quickly lost track what was going on. So many of the petitions were the same: I was given this, I'd like something else. This was done, but it shouldn't have been. I was promised that, but received the other thing. Only the names involved ever changed.

When noon rolled around, Lord Tokugawa dismissed everyone except Kenshin and called for food. He sent his guards outside, too, and stood.

"That's better," he said, stretching. "Well, Himura? What did you think?"

"…of?"

The shōgun waved his hand, silently encompassing the audience chamber and all that had gone on there. Kenshin blinked and tried to pummel his thoughts into something coherent.

"…that one is grateful to be only Lord Himura, and not shōgun, that I am."

Lord Tokugawa snorted, amused, and began to pace around the chamber. "I'm told you haven't met with your administrators yet?"

Kenshin shook his head, once. "That is not so. One has met them, and seeing that they were all competent for the task…" He spread out his hands, helplessly. "One does not wish to interfere, so long as all is in order. Is it your desire that one take a more active hand?"

"No, not an order. Only a suggestion – "

The door slid open and conversation paused while the maids brought in lunch. They ate without conversing, as custom dictated, focusing on the food. Kenshin barely tasted it. Afterwards, Lord Tokugawa dismissed the maids and they sat in silence for a little while, sipping tea.

"It's hardly unusual to leave the administration of your lands completely to your subordinates," the shōgun said at last. "But I had thought you would take an interest."

"My lord knows that I have no head for politics," Kenshin murmured. "One does not wish to be a bother to those of greater skill with such matters."

Lord Tokugawa laughed. "It's not all politics, Himura. After all your talk of bringing a new world into being, have you no desire whatsoever to live in it?"

"One… that is to say…" Kenshin turned the teacup in his hands, watching the foam swirl white-on-green. "It is not so simple as that."

"It never is. But, Kenshin," and here Kenshin looked up, because the shōgun had only used his given name twice in the fifteen years they'd been vassal and lord. "…it's been ten years."

In another man, Kenshin might have called his voice gentle.

"One is," and Kenshin swallowed down a sudden catch in his throat, "very much aware of how long it has been. My lord."

Lord Tokugawa sighed.

"If I had known, then…" he said, addressing himself more than Kenshin. "Well, it can't be helped. The Lady Kaoru, then. Does she please you?"

And Kenshin was, abruptly, completely sick of it all.

"She's terrified of me," he said flatly. "She's been sold to a demon, and she's waiting to be devoured. No, my lord, it doesn't _please_ me to have a wife who thinks herself a sacrifice. Would it please you?"

"Shall I order you divorced, then?" Lord Tokugawa said it so casually that for a split second Kenshin found himself considering it. He could release her, untouched. She could go home and marry – marry someone else. Someone more suitable. Someone who didn't trail bloody myths behind him like a ragged banner; she'd have no choice in who she wed because women never did, but at least she'd marry a _man_ –

He'd never see her again.

And she would always be marked. She would be the demon's bride for the rest of her life, and what kind of man, exactly, would take the hand of a woman tainted by such a legend?

"…No. What she did – she has behaved, in all ways, with honor." He couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice; the only way to soften it was to remember the proud set of her shoulders when she spoke to him. "She is a woman of extraordinary valor. One does not wish to dishonor her with divorce."

"I see." Lord Tokugawa raised an eyebrow. "Well. Give it time, Himura. Perhaps I'll have the Lady Kame pay her a visit; it will do her good to have some female companionship."

"As you wish," Kenshin said, because there was nothing else he could say.

* * *

The shōgun had dismissed him after lunch. Kenshin had considered going home; then he'd remembered what was waiting for him there and decided to find something else to do for the rest of the day.

That was why he found himself standing outside the barracks that housed his personal guard and the chief administrators of his estate. He'd only visited here once before, to meet chief members of his staff. He had yet to actually tour his new lands. Hito province was about a day's travel from Edo, not very wealthy when compared to other fiefs, and known primarily for turning out artists, scholars, and priests. The Kamiya family had been patrons of the arts since the Kamakura shōgunate, and even the warriors of Hito province were renowned for their intellectual bent.

He wondered, sometimes, if giving him this domain had been Lord Tokugawa's idea of a joke.

Eventually, he would have to travel there and take up residence. But the shōgun desired him to reside in Edo for the first year of the new regime, so here he was and here he'd stay. It was probably better that way. It would give his people – and there was a terrifying thought – a chance to learn that nothing was going to change. For everyone to settle in a bit before the demon came home to roost.

The guards outside the barracks bowed as he approached. There were two of them, and older man and a younger one. The younger was remarkably skinny, and Kenshin found himself wondering how his armor stayed on.

Kenshin returned the bow with a nod. He had tried to bow back properly to his retainers only once, when he had just been elevated. The attempt had touched off a remarkable chain of bows, each one trying to be deeper than the last, which he'd been hard-pressed to return until he realized that returning the bows was triggering even more bowing, at which point he'd decided to err on the side of not giving everyone whiplash from then on. It still felt strange, though, to bow to so few people.

"How may we be of service, my lord?"

"One wishes to…" Whatever he said had to be non-committal, something that couldn't be interpreted as a criticism. "Check on the progress of the transition, that I do."

The older guard blanched. "Is – is it not satisfactory, my lord?"

Dammit.

"Ah – that's not the case, it is not," he said quickly. "One is curious, only."

"Mr. Iwaji," the guard said, nodding to his counterpart. "Go and tell Mr. Uramura that our lord wishes to make an inspection."

"A – at once, honored elder brother!" the boy said in a rush, and darted off. The elder Iwaji paled and bowed to him again. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Please forgive my worthless younger brother's lapse in protocol," he said, fear straining his voice. "Allow this lowly one to assure you that he will be disciplined for it."

Kenshin furrowed his brow in confusion, and then realized that the boy had forgotten to bow before he ran off.

"That's hardly necessary," Kenshin objected, raising his hands in a peacemaking gesture. "Is the lad new to the post?"

"Y – yes, my lord." The guard swallowed. "He came of age only last month."

"Well, he shows spirit, that he does. One is certain he will be a credit to your family, in time. Ah – might one ask your name?"

"…Ichiro, my lord. Ichiro Iwaji." The guard still hadn't straightened from his bow. It was starting to hurt Kenshin's neck, looking down on him.

"Please stand up straight, Mr. Iwaji," Kenshin asked mildly, and took a startled step backwards when Ichiro sprang up like a catapult.

"And what is your brother's name?" Kenshin started to ask, and then said brother returned with a man Kenshin dimly recognized as his chief retainer, Uramura, in tow.

"My lord," Uramura said, bowing. He was about Kenshin's age, although he looked older, and had a stern, narrow face. "You wish to inspect our progress?"

"That's so." Kenshin tucked his hands inside his sleeve. "But only if it is not too great an interruption, that is."

"Not at all, my lord." He was telling the truth, mostly. Kenshin weighed causing a minor inconvenience to others against going home to the Lady Kaoru, to her courage and her fierce pride and her endlessly deep blue eyes.

"In that case," he said a little too quickly. "Please, permit one to impose."

His Edo household consisted of one hundred retainers, all samurai. His seat at Hito hosted considerably more; however, they were needed throughout the province, to govern, administrate, and keep the peace. All of them had served the late Lord Kamiya, although Uramura hastened to assure Kenshin that they were all completely obedient to the shōgun and understood absolutely that he, Lord Himura, was their master now.

"That's good," Kenshin said absently, taking in the building. Narrow corridors branched between large rooms that could be subdivided with screens. The corridor floors were wooden; the rooms were covered in bamboo matting. Slatted windows let sunlight in at strange angles, creating a slightly gloomy atmosphere. He received the impression of a place that had quieted itself unnaturally in fear when it was normally a loud and slightly smelly, as places full of men living and working at close quarters tended to be. Rather like a schoolroom when the headmaster enters.

Kenshin stifled a sigh.

"Pardon this lowly one." Uramura said stiffly. "However, since my lord is here, there is a small matter which requires your attention."

"Oh?" Kenshin turned to face his chief retainer. "What is it?"

"There is the matter of the initial inspection of the province." The chief retainer averted his eyes. "This lowly self would humbly suggest that it be performed sooner, rather than later."

"…oro?" Kenshin covered his mouth with his sleeve, turning the exclamation into a cough. "Your pardon. Why is that, Mr. Uramura?"

Uramura bowed low, in the manner of one duty-bound to say what they're about the say and fully aware that they will probably get their head bitten off regardless.

"Lord Himura, although there is not a single child in Japan who does not know your name, your retainers in Hito have yet to see your face. If my lord would deign to visit with them, they would be most reassured."

"…have they expressed concerns?" He'd thought it would be the exact opposite, that they would be happy to keep their demon-lord as far away from them as possible.

"No one would dare to question your will, my lord." Uramura hesitated, then plowed ahead, and Kenshin felt a grudging admiration for his stubborn fulfillment of duty. It was a chief retainer's job to say things that his lord might not wish to hear, after all. "However, the reports this lowly self has received indicate a degree of confusion over what the future is to hold."

"Was it not made clear that one has no desire to change the traditional operation of the province?"

"It was, my lord. However, they are a foolish lot, and it seems they require a firmer hand then my lord might have believed."

Which, credit where it's due, was the most diplomatic way of saying 'they think you're lying' that Kenshin had ever heard. He nodded.

"One perceives the difficulty, Mr. Uramura, that I do. However, as you know, the shōgun has asked one to reside in Edo until the year is out, so he has…"

"The lowly self has taken the liberty of beginning to make the appropriate inquiries. The shōgun would be willing to grant my lord a week's leave in which to tour his new estates."

"I see. In that case, then…" In that case, he hardly had a choice. If the local lords would be calmed by meeting their overlord, then he had to go; his orders were to ensure a smooth integration of the formerly rebellious province into Lord Tokugawa's vision of the united Japan. And doubtless the Lady Kaoru would prefer that they spend as much time apart as possible.

Unless…

"Mr. Uramura," he asked, raising his eyes to study the ceiling. Dust motes swirled in the afternoon light, like little dead stars in a golden stream. "Have my honored wife's uncle and his family left Edo?"

"Not yet, my lord. He intends to depart after custom has been satisfied."

He was waiting for the traditional visit, then. On the third day of married life, bride and groom visited the bride's former home to assure her family that all was well. Kenshin wondered why he was bothering. He certainly couldn't expect to hear good news.

The Lady Kaoru had promised her sisters a visit, hadn't she?

"In that case, please tell him that he may leave Edo at any time, that he may," Kenshin said, smiling a little. Maybe it would please her, to go home. "As one must travel to the province regardless, it seems sensible to travel with the Lady Kaoru, and make the first visit in the process. Does it not?"

Uramura blinked, taken aback. "Um. Well. That is certainly possible, my lord."

"Then it's settled, it is," Kenshin said, feeling better than he had in weeks.

* * *

Kenshin spent the rest of the day holed up in a very tiny office with poor ventilation, receiving a far fuller briefing on the current state of his lands than he had really wanted. His head was aching by the time they were done, and the silence of his manor – as lonely and fearful as it was – came as a blessed relief.

He had sent ahead with his time of arrival so that the Lady Kaoru would have time to eat her dinner before she had to serve him. When he arrived, she was kneeling quietly by the tray already set with his meal. She held herself proudly even in wifely submission, and he had to look very hard to notice the faint trembling in her fingers.

After he'd eaten, he cleared his throat.

"Honored wife."

"My lord husband," she said, bowing with the dignity of a captive empress. "How was your day?"

"Ah – productive. There is one matter of which you should be aware, that there is."

She tilted her head slightly, and a strand of hair fell into her eyes. He wanted very badly to smooth it away, and took a gulp of tea instead. A larger one that was wise, as it happened, and he choked a little.

"That is the matter of the first visit. Since it seems one is required to tour the province sooner rather than later, it seemed sensible to combine the two duties, that it did. Therefore, if it's agreeable, would you be so kind as to accompany one on a visit to your childhood home?"

Shock filled her eyes, although her face barely twitched.

"I – that would be – I would be most happy, honored husband," she said quietly. And happily. She hid it carefully, but he could see it.

He could also see the creeping wariness tainting that relief.

"Good," he said, standing to leave before he did something stupid, like take hold of one of those graceful hands and beg her not to fear him.

"Sleep well, honored wife," he said, and went to bed alone.


	2. more than glass between

**A/n: Hello! Please see my author profile for details on how updating this and _Invictus_ is going to work. And enjoy - and thank you all for being patient. I know this story is a little slow to get started, especially compared with _Invictus_, but I hope it'll be worth the wait. Thanks for your support!  
**

**Oh, and guess what! Someone made me FANART - illustrations of scenes from my stories! You can find those links in my profile, too. :D**

* * *

Kenshin sighed and marked the sun where it stood, almost at the roof of the sky. The arrival of a new lord at his home castle could not, it seemed, be allowed to pass without ceremony. He understood the purpose – continuity, giving the people a chance to glimpse the new ruler, giving the subordinate nobility a chance to assess him – but that didn't make it any less dreadfully dull. And unnecessary. He had no intention of changing anything; his orders were only to ensure the province transitioned smoothly and stayed loyal. That was all. He wasn't here to _rule_ them.

He schooled his face to careful stillness as another subordinate lord knelt and introduced himself. It wasn't this fellow – what had his name been? Makino? – anyway, it wasn't his fault that Kenshin was tired and bored and wanted to be tucked safely out of everyone's way so that Uramura and everyone who actually knew what they were doing could get down to business.

The Lady Kaoru was already settling in. As a woman, she didn't need to attend these ceremonies. Lucky her. Lucky _him_; as boring and mildly ridiculous as this all was – if these people had any idea where he'd been born, who he _really_ was! – at least the ceremony would eat up most of the morning.

It was amazing how many ways a desperate man could find to keep himself busy. Training, for one thing: Lord Himura's Edo estate included a full company of soldiers and a duty to see them properly trained and equipped. At least, that was what Kenshin told his blank-faced, mildly horrified commanders. The truth was that he didn't have the slightest idea how one went about using troops in battle. He had always fought alone, so he'd never needed to command or be commanded except in a general sort of "the enemy's over there, have at" way. So he had sat on a pavilion, watching the exercises, and tried to pick up some of the basics in the two days before he left to tour his province.

But – and this was important – being a nuisance to his retainers got him out of the house and away from his unwilling wife, from her graceful hands and her bright blue eyes and the wary confusion in them whenever she looked at him. He wished that he could simply _tell_ her. Fear sat so uneasily on her, stifled the pure spark of her soul.

Except – what would he tell her, exactly? The stories were somewhat exaggerated, but they weren't entirely wrong. He _could_ cross a room and slay five men in a single movement, and he _had_ killed his first wife.

So he couldn't say _it's not true, any of it_ because it _was_ true, all of it.

He could tell her _I will never hurt you_, but he'd learned the hard way not to make those kinds of promises. And anyway, what surety could he offer her that she would accept? By law and custom he had complete power over her. If he gave his word and chose to break it later, he wouldn't be censured and she would have no recourse.

Not that he would ever break his word. But again, she had no way of knowing that, and no reason to believe it.

So he'd stayed away. Mostly. He saw her every morning and evening, at meals, because he couldn't quite bear _not_ to. She spoke little and said even less: mild pleasantries and meaningless inquiries that never turned into a proper conversation.

Three days into his marriage and all he knew about his wife was this: her name was Kaoru, she had two little sisters, and she'd been sold into marriage to preserve her family.

But… that was how it should be. All things considered. He hadn't expected to feel this strongly, hadn't _wanted_ to care what his wife thought of him. He couldn't – not again. A man could only bear so much. So it was a _good_ thing that she held herself so carefully away from him, from all that he was, from his unfortunate habit of destroying everything he tried to hold on to.

The ceremony dragged on. Kenshin kept a polite, neutral smile on his face and went through the motions of accepting his retainers' fealty as gracefully as he could. He noted the name that went with each face and tried to attach at least one pertinent fact to it, grimly resigned to confusing most of them for each other and hoping that someone would be brave enough to correct him when he started calling people by the wrong name.

Eventually, just in time for the noon meal, the ceremony ended and he ran out of reasons to stay away from his new quarters. Besides, he didn't want to be any more of a burden than he'd already been. Uramura and the others doubtlessly had very important work to do that would only be delayed by his presence.

At Edo Castle his quarters were a mansion located in an external complex, as he was only a vassal to the lord-in-residence. The lord-in-residence at Hito Castle was himself, so his quarters were at the very center of the sprawling edifice, set atop a high stone hill and protected by a labyrinth of walls, roads, and barracks.

Kenshin knew as soon as he entered the interior keep that the Lady Kaoru was there. He could feel her presence. Well. She was probably holed up in her suite, so he'd stay in his. Which was very close to hers, actually, not more than a single room between them.

He closed his eyes and swallowed.

"My lord?"

There was that maid again, the one that Lady Kaoru had brought with her. Tae, that was her name. She bowed very properly to him, and he was struck once again by the air of palpable suspicion – bordering on outright _menace_ at times – that radiated from her whenever she spoke to him. At least she _did_ speak to him. Most of the maids wouldn't dare, unless he addressed them first.

It was a good thing that she was so protective of her mistress. It was a good thing to have an ally, even if she didn't know she was one.

"Will my lord take the noon meal in the dining room?"

"In the – " He shook his head. "No. One will dine in his room."

"Shall this lowly self send the lady to attend my lord?"

"No, no," he said a little too quickly. "The lady must be tired from traveling. One does not wish to trouble her with such a minor matter."

"As my lord wishes." She bowed again and strode off, and he had the disconcerting feeling of having passed some sort of test, but only barely.

He followed a second maid to his suite, dismissed her, and shut the door behind him. Then he shucked off the ceremonial jacket, hung it neatly on the stand, pulled open the door to the courtyard garden and abruptly forgot what he was doing.

The garden contained itself neatly within the parameters established by the courtyard. A bright red maple spread its branches protectively over a small pond in one corner, its shadow embracing the mossy stones. Soft moss and fine grasses covered the ground, curling over the edges of the wide-set, irregularly-shaped flat stones that formed a winding path across the courtyard.

Kenshin stepped off the porch and onto the first stone, brushing aside the wisteria hanging heavy off the edge of the porch roof. The day had started grey and cleared, and the noon sun was pouring down into the courtyard. Here, past the flowers that framed the view from the porch, it was easy to imagine himself in some secluded grotto wreathed with sunlight.

The summer rains were beginning; the mass of hydrangeas set diagonally from the pond were deepening to a rich blue shot through with violet. They would hold court until the cool autumn leeched away their color and, eventually, killed them. Then the maple would gain prominence and hold that position through autumn and beyond, as the winter snows draped themselves across its leafless bones. But spring would inevitably come, heralded by the bright pink mossflowers that lined the remaining edges of the garden and celebrated in full by the bright white wisteria cascading down to meet them.

And meanwhile center of the garden would stay clean and clear, an empty space from which to view the slow turning the seasons.

He tilted his face towards the sun, closing his eyes against the bright heat.

"…my lord husband."

His eyes snapped open. Lady Kaoru was standing across the garden from him, one hand still trailing through the wisteria. She had changed from her traveling clothes to a simpler yukata and taken her hair out of its elaborate dressing. He had only seen her dressed so casually once before, on their wedding night.

"Honored wife," he said, throat dry. "Ah – this garden. One was curious."

She kept her eyes demurely averted, like a shy and proper wife, but the downward twist of her mouth and the firm set of her shoulders turned it into an act of defiance. Kenshin found that he couldn't look away from her, even as he was overwhelmed with the sense that he had interrupted some private moment.

"...It was my father's," she said finally, stepping away from the porch and letting the dying wisteria trail through her fingers. "He designed it for my mother, for their first anniversary."

She knelt to finger one of the leaves of the hydrangea.

"He must have been a master," Kenshin said quietly. She looked up at him and a smile flitted across her face, like the brief scatter of a carp's bright scales in clouded water.

"He wasn't," and her voice was rich with amusement, and love, and grief. "But he had a teacher – an old friend of his father's, of my grandfather. Master Oguni. Father…"

She stood. Kenshin saw her breathe, deeply, and she closed her eyes just a little longer than a blink. There was a small, bitter, not-quite-a-smile on her lips.

"It's not doing so well," she said, still not meeting his eyes. "Father never let anyone else tend the place, not even after mother died. I don't know who'll take of it now that he's gone."

"If it's in poor health now, one can't imagine what it's like when properly tended, that I can't."

He hadn't quite meant to say that. Lady Kaoru glanced over at him, startled, and her gaze pierced him, riveting him in place. There was a faint crease between her eyes and confusion in her face, and she looked at him as though she could pry him open and read him like a book, if only give the time. He wanted her to read him. He wanted her _know_. He wanted to curl around that inner fire and warm himself…

He broke the moment with a nervous nod.

"Your pardon. Excuse me. But perhaps you would prefer – in any case, one should be preparing for the visit to your uncle's, that I should. One did not mean to intrude."

"You are my honored husband," she said flatly, eyes downcast again. But he could see her hands clenching, could see the pride and fury of a wild thing caged in the lines of her soul. "I am yours to command."

Kenshin wanted, more than anything, to tell her that it wasn't so. He would kneel at her feet, if he thought it would help, and tell her anything he thought she might believe if it meant she would fear him a little less. If it would make her truly smile at him, for him, even once.

Except he couldn't and he wouldn't, because there was nothing he could say that she would believe and rightly so. And what right did he have to even try?

"And you are my honored wife, so you are," he said. "One does not – one does not wish – "

It was his turn to take a sudden breath.

"It is unbecoming to treat one's wife with disrespect," he said finally. "Your pardon, honored wife. One shall begin preparing for the visit, now."

He bowed quickly and left, and felt Lady Kaoru's eyes on him as he walked inside.

* * *

If Uncle Miyauchi looked at her in that pitying, apologetic way _one more time_, Kaoru was going to slap him. Etiquette be damned.

Something must have shown in her eyes, because he blanched and looked quickly away. Lord Himura glanced between the two of them and cleared his throat. Aunt Kyoko trilled out a sudden laugh, shrill and nervous.

"Oh, forgive me," she tittered, covering her mouth with her sleeve. "Why, I was only recalling my own first visit home. Dear Miyauchi was so nervous, he nearly knocked over the teapot! I thought my honored father would start laughing right there – but of course he didn't, that would be terribly rude."

It might have served as an icebreaker, if her eyes hadn't been bright with terror.

"Well," Lord Himura smiled politely, and the corner of his eyes crinkled. "One will certainly try not to harm the teapots, that I will."

Aunt Kyoko tried not to flinch, and mostly succeeded. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply that _you_ would, my lord," she fluttered. "I only thought to share an amusing story."

"Of course," he said mildly. "No offense was taken."

That only wound her tighter. Kaoru wondered idly if she was going faint. Aunt Kyoko had always been high-strung.

"Aunt," she broke in, to spare them all, "Are Ayame and Suzume well?"

"Oh – yes!" Her aunt forced a smile to her face. "They are so looking forward to visiting with you this evening."

"This evening?" Concern jolted her, and Kaoru leaned forward. "I thought I'd see them later this afternoon. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing's _wrong_, precisely." Aunt Kyoko waved as if to brush her concern away. "It's only that their education has been so dreadfully neglected – no fault of yours, of course, you were scarcely more than a girl yourself when dear Naoko passed away. But I do wish your father had shown a bit more concern for their womanly achievements. I know you can't expect a man to take a real interest, of course, but I would have been glad to take over you girls' education."

Yes, she would have. Which had been precisely why Father hadn't let her.

"I see," Kaoru said, resolving to get the truth out of her sisters later. "Well, I'm looking forward to seeing them again."

"Your visit's been all they could talk about." It sounded like a compliment, but Kaoru could read the frustration under it. She didn't bother to stifle her smirk; her aunt saw it and frowned, opening her mouth to say more.

"So, Kaoru," her uncle interjected, eager to change the subject. "How have things been?"

"Different." She flashed him a mirthless smile. "It's strange, sleeping in a new place."

Pain flickered across his face and she relented despite herself. He had made the only possible choice, after all; even if he had thought to remember her father's promise and let her choose, it wouldn't have changed anything. She still would have had to marry the man beside her. Duty demanded it.

It just would have hurt a little less.

"It's fine, though, I'm sure I'll adjust," she said with all the sincerity she could muster. "Don't worry about me, Uncle."

"Perhaps it will be easier now, in a more familiar place?" Lord Himura said, and there was nothing but innocence in his voice. She froze, then forced herself to put some life in her smile.

"Perhaps."

Three nights, and he hadn't touched her. She had served him rice at the morning and evening meals, and that was all: less than an hour each day, fraught with complicated silence and meaningless platitudes. Had he meant to imply that that would change, now?

_Please, no_. _Not here. Not here._ Not here, where she had always been safe, where her mother had taught her to write and read and sew and her father had guided her through her first fumbling sword-forms…

Kaoru was as certain as she could be that he desired her. He watched her constantly, like a cat at stalk and she was the bird tangled in the underbrush, seeing the predator and unable to fly. She didn't know why he hadn't taken what he so clearly wanted.

_It is unbecoming to treat one's wife with disrespect_.

Sudden dread gripped her spine. Maybe it offended his pride to take an unwilling woman to bed – maybe he was waiting for her to overcome her maidenly shyness and offer herself properly. Dutifully. As a loving wife. For her to blush and smile and gasp in pleasure and praise his might.

If that was the case…

She closed her eyes for a moment, resigned.

"Honored wife?" Lord Himura was looking at her, a strange, soft light in his strange eyes. Not blue, and yet not quite true purple: nothing human could have eyes like that. "Your pardon. Has one offended…?"

"No," Kaoru lied, straightening. She couldn't let him see – she'd given too much away already. "Not at all. It's only a little overwhelming, to be home again, when so much has changed."

"I see."

There was nothing sly or deceitful in his eyes. If she didn't know better, she would think that he was only concerned, that his comment had been mere idle conversation. That he had been nothing but honest with her from the beginning.

No. She couldn't let herself hope for that. There had to be some selfish reason why he hadn't exercised his rights yet. Tae had suggested a physical incapacity, but neither of them had any idea how to check on that. If he was impotent, then she didn't have anything to fear – except his frustration, if he decided to blame her for his own difficulties as men sometimes did.

Perhaps he truly _was_ a supernatural creature, and there were certain physical requirements that she didn't fulfill. Like trying to mate a crow to a cat; or maybe she had to be in the correct season. Her moon would be rising next week, assuming that stress hadn't disrupted her courses. Maybe she needed to be at her most fertile.

"In any case…" Uncle cleared his throat. "Forgive me, Lord Himura, but I'm afraid that I have a favor I must ask."

"Ah, yes, well. As we are family, one will do what can be done, of course."

"My son, Yahiko – Kaoru's cousin. He's old enough now to take a position as a page, and he asked me to approach you on his behalf."

Kaoru wanted to roll her eyes at her uncle's transparency. Her husband blinked, making a peculiar, questioning noise that Kaoru couldn't quite hear.

"Ah – one has some influence, it's true, but one does not believe any lord is seeking more pages at this time…"

"Forgive me, I haven't been clear." Uncle bowed slightly. "Yahiko asked me to approach you about becoming _your_ page."

Horror shot through Kaoru and she stared at her uncle, unable to believe what he was suggesting. First his niece, and then his own _son?_ Hadn't her sacrifice been enough?

"…oro?"

A slightly hysterical giggle escaped despite her best efforts. Lord Himura glanced over at her and she quickly assumed a more solemn expression; but he'd clearly heard her. He was smiling, just a little, a smaller version of that bright, childish grin – as though her disregard for his dignity had pleased him.

He must not have noticed her dismay. Or maybe he had, and that was what he was smiling about.

"Kaoru?" Aunt Kyoko tilted her head. "What is it, dear?"

"Oh – it's just so strange to think of little Yahiko as a page. He's growing up so fast." She picked up her cup of tea, letting the warmth tingle through her numb fingers. "He'll be a man before we know it, I suppose."

"The two of you are close?" Lord Himura was watching her carefully, with that cat-at-stalk look again. Kaoru forced herself to take a slow sip of tea before she responded.

"Oh yes!" Aunt bubbled into the silence, "Dear Kaoru doesn't have any brothers, you know, and our little Yahiko doesn't have any sisters – so they're really more like siblings than cousins."

Kaoru glared politely at her aunt, willing her to shut up _now_, before she made things any worse. Her aunt tittered behind her sleeve and shot Kaoru a nervous glance. Kaoru turned her glare on her uncle, who met her with a stern look.

"Kaoru has always been like an elder sister to our son," he said, turning pointedly away from her to focus on her husband. "And Yahiko is quite sincere in his wish."

"…is that so?" Lord Himura was toying with the edge of his sleeve, very subtly; Kaoru wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been sitting right next to him. "Honored wife, what is your opinion on the matter?"

"I…" She faltered. Yahiko _couldn't_ be allowed to do this, whatever the reason was. She wouldn't expose him to that kind of danger. No matter how badly she might want something of home around her – she already had Tae, and that was greedy enough. She'd only brought her maid because Tae had threatened to follow on foot otherwise.

Kaoru straightened her spine, cold fury filling her heart. _I will not allow this_.

"Yahiko's too young," she said firmly. "He's rude and impertinent, unsuited for the shōgun's court or for service to a lord. He needs to work on his manners before he can be a page to anyone."

"Ah." Lord Himura nodded politely at her uncle, who looked as if he was choking. "One will consider what you both have said, that I will."

Aunt Kyoko took that as her cue to steer the conversation to more neutral waters and they discussed pointless things until Lord Himura pleaded business elsewhere. Kaoru rose to leave with him, and he shook his head.

"You needn't leave just yet, if you wish to stay." He flashed a meaningless smile at her as he pushed his swords through his belt. "One expects to be occupied until the evening; there is no need to trouble yourself, that there is not."

Kaoru glanced at her uncle; rage bloomed within her and her eyes hardened.

"…in that case, honored husband, I'll stay and visit a little longer." Clearly, she and Uncle Miyauchi had things to discuss. "When do you expect to return?"

"No later than the hour of the dog, one should think."

"As you wish," she said, bowing, and words tasted like ashes in her mouth.

"It was a pleasant visit," he said to her aunt and uncle. "One enjoyed it immensely. Would it be too much trouble if one should call again?"

"O-of course not," Aunt Kyoko said, returning the pleasantries as earnestly as she could. "My lord, our home is yours."

The corner of his mouth quirked in a way that was nearly bitter, and there was a queer, sad look in his eyes – the same look he'd had in the garden, when she'd pointed out that she was his to command. As though he was pleading for something, although she couldn't imagine what.

"One is grateful to hear it," he said softly, bowed, and left.

Kaoru listened until she couldn't hear his footsteps anymore, then rounded on her uncle

"How _could_ you – " she started to say.

"How _dare_ you – " he began, at the same time, and there was cold fury in his eyes.

His vehemence startled her into silence, and she took a step back.

"How _dare_ you criticize my son in front of Lord Himura?" he said hotly, advancing on her. "What on earth possessed you? Do you have any idea how foolish you made me look?"

"No more foolish than you made yourself look!" she shot back, anger licking over her bones. "Not even a year since my father – your _brother_ – died and you're already licking the Tokugawa's boots? Bad enough that you broke his promise to mother, but to sell your own _son?_"

"I am trying to give my son a future!" he roared, and she forced herself to stay where she was. "I am trying to save what I can from your father's _idiocy!_ I _begged_ him to ally with the Tokugawa and he refused to hear it! If not for his foolish ideals, we would have retained control of our province! _This is all I can do!_"

"My father was not a fool!" Tears burned in the corners of her eyes. "He was _loyal_, as a warrior should be! You – you _snake!_"

Uncle slapped her. She reeled back, pressing a hand to her stinging cheek, and all the breath went out of her.

"Your father," her uncle said coldly, "your father's _loyalty_, doomed you to this marriage, Kaoru. I cannot undo what he did. I cannot change your fate."

Uncle Miyauchi stepped away, crossing his arms over his chest and staring out into the courtyard.

"All I can do is make sure that your sacrifice was not in vain by _using_ it to further the clan's interests. Your father _lied_ to you, Kaoru," he said, and there was no mercy in his voice. "As a woman, you will always be a tool of the men around you. This is your destiny. If you were fated for anything else, you would have been born a man. The sooner you accept your karma, the sooner you will know peace."

Her legs were weak and she wanted to fall; pride alone kept her on her feet. The rage had vanished with her uncle's blow, and she was all hollowness and grief.

"It is _not_ my destiny," she said, voice cracking. "I will _not_ accept it."

"Then struggle." His eyes were cold. "And suffer. And know that if you act against the interests of this clan again, I will not protect you."

He began to walk away.

"Dear…" Aunt Kyoko started to say something, and quailed under her husband's look. She cast Kaoru a frail, apologetic glance, and followed after her husband.

Only then, when they were well out of sight, did Kaoru fall slowly to her knees and sob.

* * *

Kenshin patted his mare's neck as she shied and danced to one side, snorting at the rickety bridge in front of them.

"There now," he murmured, eyeing the half-rotted slats with some trepidation. "One sees your point, that I do."

Uramura cleared his throat somewhere behind him.

"My lord," he said carefully. "This is the most convenient path to Master Oguni's residence. Shall we continue?"

"We shall," Kenshin said after a moment. "But perhaps it would be best to leave the horses here, it would."

"Unattended, my lord?"

He shook his head, turning to look at Uramura. "No. If it's not inconvenient, please wait here. One will go alone."

Something had plainly unsettled his chief retainer, but the man hid it well.

"As you wish, my lord."

They dismounted and Kenshin handed his horse's reins to Uramura, who led the animals to the side of the path and tied them loosely to a tree. Kenshin walked over to the bridge and put one foot on the first board that looks reasonably sound, testing its strength. The wood creaked alarmingly, but didn't give.

"It's just up this path, you say?"

"Yes, my lord. About a mile from this bridge."

"Well then. One will return shortly," he said, bowing, and started to cross.

The bridge spanned a high gully with a fast-flowing stream beneath it, fed by a waterfall that cascaded from the other side. It wasn't as high as some he'd crossed; a fall from this height wouldn't kill him, but it would certainly hurt and might even break a few bones. The bridge was ancient, and many of the wooden slats were rotted away. The rope holding it all together wasn't in much better shape. The hemp slid roughly against his hands, catching on his sword callouses, and about halfway across he scraped against a splinter embedded in the hemp and had to pause to pick it out of his palm, wincing.

The trail on the other side of the bridge was rough and narrow, broken by gnarled roots and stone. It slanted sharply upwards, eventually turning into a series of hard switchbacks. Kenshin blew out a breath and started up the slope, picking his way carefully through the loose pebbles. Despite his best efforts, a few of them ended up lodged in his sandals.

The forest thickened as he reached the top of the trail, covering the sun with bright green shadows. Here and there sunlight broke through, pooling along the moss-covered trunk of a fallen giant and sheathing the saplings competing for its place in fragile gold. Trickles of water crossed the path, moistening the air, and he could hear the main stream burbling contentedly to itself as it wound parallel with the trail. Birds sang to one another without a care for the interloper in their midst, and once he saw a hare poke its nose from the underbrush, twitching, and hurriedly withdraw.

Eventually, he heard a man singing. An old man, voice cracked and weathered, droning his way through one of those songs you know but don't remember learning. He followed the voice as the trail narrowed until it almost vanished, and just when he began to suspect he'd lost the path entirely he broke through the forest and found himself standing in a clearing, in front of a small worn hut. A man was sitting on a stump in front of it, whittling at a stick and singing. He looked up.

Kenshin bowed in greeting.

"Good afternoon, honored sir," he said. "Does one have the honor of addressing Master Oguni?"

The old man stood and returned the bow, gravely. But there seemed to be a spark of good humor in his eyes, and Kenshin found himself wanting to like the man.

"I am Oguni, young man. And who might you be?"

"Pardon the intrusion." Kenshin cleared his throat. "One's name is Kenshin Himura, and if it is not too great an inconvenience, there is a favor one wishes to ask of you."

"Himura?" The old man raised an eyebrow. "A relation of our new lord? Does he wish something of this humble gardener?"

Oh. Right. That. Kenshin's face heated.

"Ah – your pardon, again. That is, one is, more properly, Lord Kenshin Himura, so I am."

He grimaced slightly as he said the words. They fit poorly in his mouth and felt strange on his tongue, like a lie that had gone unchecked so long that there was no hope of ever finding the truth again. Master Oguni raised an eyebrow, and the sense of welcome around him faded.

"I see," he said, apparently to himself. "Well then," he said, more directly, "How might this humble self be of service to such an august personage, my lord?"

He bowed again, and held it. Kenshin had a sudden feeling of having walked into a conversation at just the wrong moment: something was happening, but damned if he could figure out what. Or how to reclaim some measure of control over the situation, because he did in fact know what was wrong. _He_ was wrong. He was the new demon-lord of Hito, vicious and blood-soaked, and he had no business invading this private space to ask for favors.

"One has," he started to say. "That is – one has come to ask if you would consider returning to service at Hito Castle."

"As my lord commands." Master Oguni's face was carefully neutral and his posture was perfectly humble, but Kenshin could feel the challenge in him and didn't have the slightest idea why.

Games. Would it always be games?

Kenshin sighed and ran his hand over his face.

"Master Oguni," he said. "Please stand up. One does not – one _asks_, only. For the – because your services would be most appreciated, so they would."

The master straightened and eyed Kenshin, wary.

"Would they, now?"

"They would. But one does not _command_ your return," he added, feeling queerly insistent on that point.

Master Oguni looked at him and now Kenshin _knew_ he was being measured for something, like an apprentice who hadn't quite proven himself. He'd know that look anywhere. His own master had never quite lost it, even at the end.

"And why don't you?" Master Oguni said at last.

"Because…" Kenshin rubbed at the bridge of his nose, inexpressibly weary. "Because it would be _rude_, so it would."

The master stared at him. Leaves rustled overhead: a sparrow sang out. Kenshin blinked, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing.

And then, quite suddenly, Master Oguni smiled.

"Well, well," he said, chuckling. "Come inside, then, and let's talk."

He turned and walked into the hut, gesturing over his shoulder for Kenshin to follow. Kenshin did so, feeling very young again.

The inside of the hut was sparse and neat: a small fireplace molded out of the wall, a wooden pantry standing nearby, a few shelves holding some gardening equipment, and a pile of bedding folded in one corner. Master Oguni opened the pantry and started taking out the tea things.

"Have a seat, my lord, anywhere is fine."

Kenshin knelt on the packed earth, pulling his sword out from his belt and setting it before him.

"Thank you for welcoming me into your home, Master Oguni," he said, not without irony. "One appreciates your tolerance for the inconvenience."

"Not at all," the older man said absently, stoking the embers in the fireplace. "It's always a pleasure to meet one's neighbors."

They went on in this vein for a while, exchanging the traditional small talk and mild pleasantries. When would the rains be coming; oh within a week at the most; do you enjoy the rainy season; I find it refreshing, yes, and the flowers afterwards bloom so beautifully. Oh, but we can only enjoy them for a short time before the fall; doesn't that just make them more beautiful, though?

It was nice. It was nice to follow the script he knew, for once, of a neighbor talking to a neighbor and not a lord ordering a vassal or a vassal serving a lord. It was nice to compliment the pottery and receive a humble disclaimer and a story about the man who'd cast it; to exclaim over the taste of the tea and be told where it was purchased. Just two people, talking, and as they talked he relaxed inexorably into the gift of the moment, grateful beyond words for the chance to simply be.

Eventually, though, the tea was done and talk turned to the reason for his visit.

"You said you wished me to return to service at the castle?"

"Yes," Kenshin said, finishing off the dregs. "There is a particular garden, in the private quarters. It has been neglected since the previous lord's passing, and as one is told you helped create it, one hopes you might be persuaded to return and tend to it."

"Only to that garden?" There was a strange, subtle light in Master Oguni's eyes.

"Ah." Kenshin put the teacup down and opted for honesty. It had worked so far. "One had not thought that far, honored sir. If you wish to tend the others, of course…"

"I see." Master Oguni steepled his hands. "And how did you come to learn I had a hand in that particular garden?"

"The Lady Kaoru told one a little of the history. It seems that the place was… important to her, and her family."

The older man made a contemplative noise, deep in his throat.

"And that's why you've come all this way? To ask an old man to see to a garden that others might tend just as easily?"

"Well." Kenshin coughed, a little uneasy. "When the honorable lady told one of the garden's history, it seemed – that to her, at least, to allow another to tend it would be unacceptable, that it would."

"…and that mattered to you?"

Kenshin couldn't look at him. He stared just beyond him, instead, and remembered her smile that _wasn't_ a smile, not a true one. It hurt, hurt in a way that he had no right to feel, that she didn't smile. Not near him, certainly never _for_ him and damn him to hell for even considering wanting that.

But surely it wasn't too selfish to want her to _smile?_ Not for him, never for him, but just… in general. There wasn't anything wrong with wanting to give her something, as long as he didn't expect anything in return.

"It did, Master Oguni," he said, quietly. "One thought, perhaps – the lady has suffered many upheavals in the past year. One thought, to have an old friend of her father's near, to see the garden restored, it might make her…" He swallowed. "It might make her happy."

Master Oguni's face went entirely blank. _Entirely_ – that man was so contained that Kenshin only barely caught the flicker of something indescribable in the very lines of his soul, and only then because he was looking very hard. The master bowed his head and studied the cup in his worn hands, turning it around and around.

"Well, then," he said, after a long pause. "Well."

He looked straight at Kenshin, and his eyes were very kind.

"It seems I'm needed, then. I'll return to the castle with you, my lord Himura. In fact – I believe I shall be quite honored to."

* * *

"Big sister, big sister!"

Ayame tugged on Kaoru's sleeve, pulling her over to the pond. "Did you see the fishes? The big carp is still here!"

"Big carp, big carp!" Suzume echoed, pulling on Kaoru's skirts. She picked her littlest sister up, looking carefully over the pond with a teasing air.

"Is it, now? Which one? The white and red one?"

"No, no, no! The _big_ one, the one that's all over silver!" Ayame pointed to the stately matron as she glided out from a cluster of water lilies with a slow flip of her tail.

"Big silver, big silver!"

"Ginko," Kaoru said gently. "Her name is Ginko, remember?"

The big silver was ancient; according to family legend, she was over two hundred years old and had been a gift from their lord – former lord – upon the occasion of their alliance with him. The carp had been a fixture in the private garden for as long as Kaoru could remember, and one of her first memories was of leaning against her mother's side and watching Ginko weave serenely through the lilies.

"Ginko!" Ayame raced around the edge and leaned over to wave at the carp. The carp made her way over to the edge and butted against the surface expectantly. "Hello, Ginko!"

Suzume squirmed in Kaoru's arms, wanting to join her sister. Kaoru let her down and turned to where Tae was standing on the porch outside the garden.

"Tae, would you – ?"

But her old nurse had already brought out a loaded tray: a pot of tea for the humans and a bowl of carefully shredded vegetables for the fish. The girls swarmed her, and Tae kept her balance only through long practice.

"Girls! Don't push. Let Tae put the fish's snacks down – there. Now say thank you."

"Thank you!" they chorused, and then grabbed a handful each of vegetables before returning to the edge of the pond. Kaoru laughed at their eagerness and settled down to watch them. Tae offered her a handful of fish snacks, a sly glimmer in her eyes.

"…maybe later," Kaoru said, a little ruefully.

The girls had to balance on the rocks lining the pond in order to feed the carp, who were already splashing and knocking into one another in anticipation. Ayame let the food fall in clumps; Suzume preferred to sprinkle hers lightly over the surface. The carp didn't have a preference. They just devoured.

Like some people she could name…

Tae's hand settled coolly on her shoulder.

"There, there, dear," she said softly. "We'll find a way through this."

"I have to get them away from Aunt Kyoko," she murmured, clenching her fists as she saw how careful the girls were to avoid putting weight on their knees. "She'll ruin them. She won't _mean_ to, but…"

"We'll find a way," Tae repeated. "We will."

Ayame and Suzume hadn't been allowed to come over until almost halfway through the hour of the rooster, barely an hour before sundown. On the one hand, it gave Kaoru an excuse to insist that they spend the night; on the other, when she'd learned what had delayed them…

Aunt Kyoko had never approved of how her nieces were raised. Part of it, Kaoru was sure, was envy; she'd wanted children, badly, but had never had more than Yahiko, and him only after far too many failed pregnancies. And while it was true that one boy was better than three girls – at least to Aunt Kyoko's way of thinking – boys belonged to their fathers past a certain age, while a mother could dote on her daughter for years, meddling in her friendships, her fashions, her marriage… and Aunt Kyoko _loved_ to meddle.

Nothing was ever quite good enough for her, that was the problem. Especially not her brother-in-law's wild daughters. Ayame and Suzume had been in her care for less than a week and they were already miserable: she expected them to be up at dawn, dressed, and ready to sit politely and unfed while Uncle ate breakfast. Only after he'd left did the women eat; then they had lessons all day, in calligraphy and embroidery and various other womanly arts that Kaoru quite agreed they should learn, but – not _that_ way. Not as a chore, not as something to be endured and mastered. That was never how mother had taught them. With mother it had always been a celebration, each achievement praised for the effort and the thought put into it even when it didn't turn out exactly right.

Aunt Kyoko believed that children should be seen and not heard: that they should be docile and obedient and uncomplaining. Mother and father had never felt that way, had always treated their daughters as small people with opinions that deserved to be at least _heard_, if not necessarily heeded. They had explained things, had wanted their children to understand _why_ and not only _what_. Aunt Kyoko didn't think that _why_ should matter to a small child. All they needed to know was to do what they were told, and what the penalties were for failing to obey.

And that was another thing! Being sent to their room without supper or denied a special treat – that was all very well and good – but kneeling on rice for an hour? No food for a _day?_ Confined to a _closet?_ For being children, and doing what children do?

It was possible that Aunt Kyoko would eventually reach some sort of balance and learn to take the girls as they were. It was equally possible that she would break their spirits, first, and Kaoru refused to take that chance.

Except that she didn't have the slightest idea what to do. And she only had a week to figure it out.

She sighed and turned to Tae. "Maybe we could – "

Tae's hand slid off her shoulder and the maid stood, bowing towards the porch.

"My lord. We are grateful for your safe return."

Lord Himura stepped down into the garden, brushing aside the hanging blossoms. He acknowledged Tae with a nod and then his eyes fixed on Kaoru, as they always did. She was starting to get used to it, to expect it, and that frightened her straight down her bones.

"Honored wife," he said softly, bowing to her. "One has returned."

"Honored husband." Kaoru bowed. "Welcome home."

Her gut twisted in resentment, and she prayed that none of it showed on her face. He looked over to where the girls were still absorbed in feeding the carp, and a small smile lit his face.

"Your sisters are still here?"

"They've only just arrived." She moved to stand between them and him, and wasn't aware that she had done so until she saw the light dim in his eyes. He looked away, as if he were ashamed.

"There is a guest," he went on to say, more briskly than she had heard him speak before. "One hopes you will welcome him."

"A guest…?"

"Hello there, Kaoru my dear," Master Oguni said, stepping into the garden. "It's been some time, hasn't it?"

He smiled, and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes grew even deeper. Kaoru's hand came up to her collar and clenched there, wrapping in the silk of her kimono.

"Master Oguni. I – it's so good to see you."

And then she smiled, a real smile, her first true smile in weeks: it rose up from a deep, warm place she'd almost forgotten she had inside her, a place where her mother had never died and her father had never retreated into abstractions and philosophies, where the war had never happened and it was only her and her parents and her sisters playing in the garden through long warm days and safe, restful nights.

She didn't know _why_ her husband had brought Master Oguni here, but in that one solitary moment all she could do was be grateful that he had. Kaoru turned to thank him.

Lord Himura hadn't moved. He didn't look like he _could_ move: he was frozen to the spot, staring at her, not with his usual hunting-cat hunger but something far more primal. A naked, brutally human yearning. Her eyes widened and her sense of peace faded, replaced by uncertainty.

Her smiled vanished. The look in his eyes faded and he stepped back up onto the porch.

"Your pardon," he said, bangs hiding his eyes, and started to walk away. "One will take his leave, now."

"Wait," she said, not entirely sure why. He paused, back straight as an arrow. "Um – the evening meal. Will you require – "

"No." He cut her off, shaking his head, and his voice was rough with – something she didn't want to think too much about. "Stay with your sisters," he continued, more gently. "One is entirely capable of pouring his own tea for a night."

He threw a smile over his shoulder, shallow and polite and utterly without meaning. A mask, one that didn't match his reputation or the stark longing in his eyes when he looked at her, and yet he wore it so effortlessly that she could almost believe it was the truth.

"…thank you," she said suddenly, and didn't know quite why. "For bringing Master Oguni. I – I haven't seen him since father died. I've missed him."

And then the mask wasn't, and he was really smiling, that bright little-boy smile that she didn't understand. She'd seen it the first time on their wedding night, when he'd left her alone and untouched in the bridal chamber, and then again the next night, when he'd presented his plan for a visit to her home. He'd worn it once more the evening before they arrived, when they'd stopped for the night at the same small inn she'd stayed in on her journey to Edo. The proprietor had remembered how much she'd loved the local delicacy, a citrusy little sweetcake, and brought out a tray, and she'd forgotten the circumstances and laughed with pleasure. He'd commented that she seemed fond of sweets and she'd turned to him, startled, only to see him looking like nothing more than a devoted bridegroom delighting in his new wife's happiness.

"Then one's purpose has been accomplished, so it has," he said, still in the soft tone. "One will retire for the night, I think. Rest well, when you do."

"And you, honored husband."

She didn't watch him go. She turned back to her sisters, to her father's oldest friend, to her loyal maid, and she played with her sisters and talked with the last remnants of her family. They ate together in the garden in the cool summer twilight, and when the girls finally started to fall asleep Tae and Master Oguni helped her tuck them into bed, and she didn't think of her husband at all except for once at the very end of the evening.

After the girls were safely asleep and dreaming she thanked Master Oguni for leaving his hermitage to come and tend to her father's garden. He'd smiled at her, shaking his head.

"I regret to say that I didn't come entirely on my own, my dear. Your uncle and I have never gotten along, after all."

She'd blinked, confused.

"What?"

"I came because your husband asked me to," he'd said, eyes twinkling with that entirely too happy look he got when he was about to rattle someone's cage. "For your sake. Now, how did he put it? Oh yes – that you've been through quite a lot in the past year, and he thought it might make you happy to have an old friend of the family nearby."

"..he said that?" Her heart had pounded hard in her temples, because Master Oguni wouldn't lie. And Master Oguni wouldn't have left his home if he had thought that Lord Himura was lying, which meant that her husband not only must have said it, but he must have meant it, too.

And that didn't make any sense.

When Kaoru slept that night, she dreamed of her husband, standing in the garden and framed by the bright waterfall of flowers. She dreamed of his eyes pleading with her, his strange eyes like wisteria petals whirling downstream, and in her dream she asked him an important question but woke up before he answered, and by the time she cleared the sleep from her eyes she couldn't remember what she'd asked.


	3. do I dare disturb the universe?

**A/n: Name the English pilot referenced in this chapter and win a world-famous no-prize!**

**And for those of you who are reading only this and not Invictus, let me repeat what I said there last update.**

******I'd like to take this moment to thank everyone who's been supporting my stories, whether you're reading both of them or only one. I know I don't respond to reviews that much, but I read them over and over again. They mean a lot to me, and I treasure every single one of them. You guys are the reason I'm writing. So, thank you all very much. /bows**

* * *

Misao stretched her arms over her head and arched her back, pushing out her stomach. She was putting on weight, Kaoru noted clinically: there was a soft roundness to her belly and breasts that hadn't been there before. Motherhood suited her.

"This feels _so_ nice!" she exclaimed, sinking back down into the hot spring. "I've been just _exhausted_ lately, you know." She rested one hand on the bump in her abdomen, blushing. "The doctor says it's normal – I guess because I'm making a whole new person, here."

Kaoru smiled, happy for her friend, and rubbed idly at the side of her neck. She'd woken up with a terrible crick in it. The hot water was making her thirsty; she turned over, letting her legs float out behind her, and rested her arms on the side of the spring. There was a tray sitting within reach with two cups of cool barley tea, and she took a moment to consider the effort involved in reaching for a cup when she was already limp with heat. Was she really _that_ thirsty?

"So," Misao said, crossing her legs on the stone bench, "It's been almost a week, you've had a chance to learn Lord Himura's routine…"

She _was_ that thirsty, after all, Kaoru decided, barely hearing what Misao was saying. Misao was her best friend, and Kaoru loved her dearly, but she could talk a stone Buddha into covering his ears. She reached out and snagged a cup before the air could cool her skin too much, then retreated back to the smothering warmth of the spring and sighed gratefully.

"When would be the best time for you to sneak out? My dear husband's already made all the arrangements, and we can have you at the family place in Iga province in no time."

Kaoru had just taken a swig of tea – far more than was ladylike, because she never needed to bother with that when she was with Misao – and it was wonderfully refreshing in the moment before she choked on it.

"…what?" she sputtered, when her airway finally cleared.

"Well, we _can_ also just assassinate him," Misao said calmly, fixing her hair where it had started to come out of its bun. "But dear Aoshi thinks that might cause problems, and anyway I know you don't like killing people if it can be avoided."

"…and my running away _won't?_" Kaoru gulped down her tea, head spinning. She had been half-expecting this – Misao's family being what they were – but Misao was so _casual_ about it, as though a violation of filial piety carried no more weight than a stained kimono. They were bound to her family by friendship and blood-debt and Kaoru _knew_ that those things meant more to them than any law, and yet they stood so completely outside the bushido that she couldn't help feeling a bit nervous, sometimes.

"Well, that's only step _one_." Misao hoisted herself partway out of the spring and grabbed her own cup of tea. "Obviously the new government won't allow you to divorce, so there's no point even bothering trying that. So we fake your death instead, and then a few months later, after things settle down, my cousin from Iga comes to live with me and Lord Aoshi following the tragic death of her parents in some kind of natural disaster. Or not, if you don't ever want to come back here – our clan still owes a great debt to your father, you know, so if you decide to start over somewhere instead we'll do everything we can to help you."

"Fake my _death?_" Kaoru put her empty cup on the edge of the spring, feeling a headache building. Of course Misao would think of something like that. Her family's only loyalty was to Koushijiro Kamiya, and with his death it transferred to her, his eldest daughter. The future of Hito, the stability of the country – those things meant nothing, so long as their duty to those they were pledged to was fulfilled. No wonder Father had always called them a double-edged sword.

"Sure! It's easy – although I can't give you the details." She tapped the side of her nose. "Trade secret, you know. But there'll be a body and everything, and no one will know the difference."

"Misao…" Kaoru closed her eyes, tilting her head back, and let her hands fall below the waterline. The heat seeped into the tension between her fingers, loosening her hands, and she flexed them unconsciously. "And then what? My family is disgraced and we lose what little we have left? Uncle sells some other poor girl into marriage? I'm not _that_ selfish."

"I can't accept that."

Misao's voice was cold, and utterly passionless. Kaoru's eyes snapped open. She looked at her friend; Misao was staring flatly at her, looking eerily like Aoshi. "I haven't said anything because I know you hate imposing on others – but I can't stand by and let him hurt you."

Kaoru blinked, and suddenly several things made sense: Misao's relief when she'd said that of course she was free to go to the hot springs, her solicitousness on the ride over, how she'd come into the spring after Kaoru was covered by the water. Misao had been trying not to shame her.

"Misao – he hasn't hurt me." She shook her head. "He hasn't even touched me. Actually… I was going to tell you, after our soak, because I don't know _what's_ going on and I could really use some advice. But he hasn't hurt me."

Misao straightened and her eyes narrowed.

"Tell me."

Kaoru told her. Starting with their wedding night, and up to the present day: everything he'd done and more importantly, _not_ done. How he'd been nothing but courteous, and brought Master Oguni to take care of the garden – and Misao knew how much that meant. And she meant to confine it to facts, she really did, but she was so confused she ended up spilling everything else, too: how kept _looking_ at her, and the way he smiled sometimes. Like they were reading from different scripts.

She talked for longer than she had since her father had died, and when she was done Misao silently handed her the remaining, untouched glass of barley tea. Kaoru downed it gratefully, feeling the coolness in the tips of her fingers and toes.

"We should get out of the spring." Misao said. "It's not good to stay in the heat this long."

"You're right." But Kaoru made no move to get out. "I'm – I just don't know what to do, Misao."

Her friend was already climbing out of the springs. Kaoru followed her, and she didn't miss Misao's long, assessing look at her body before she wrapped herself in a yukata. Annoyance flared.

"I'm telling the truth," she snapped. "All he does is stare at me. I think he'd have a heart attack if I actually touched him. See?"

She dropped her yukata and turned around. There were no bruises on her, no scratches or scrapes – no signs of rough treatment at all. Then Kaoru pulled her robe back on, tossing back her hair.

"I believe you!" Misao said quickly. "I just don't know what to make of it."

"Me neither." Kaoru sighed. "But I would have thought you'd know already, to be honest," she said vaguely. "I mean – you and Aoshi always seem to know everything else…"

Misao shook her head. "It's hard to know anything about someone who didn't _exist_ until about fifteen years ago," she pointed out. "On paper, anyway. You know the official story – that his branch was almost wiped out in that earthquake, and their records destroyed."

"Yes…" They reached the dressing room and Kaoru waved away the attendants, perfectly content to dry herself. Misao let them fuss over her, glowing with an expectant mother's pride as they exclaimed over her health and the growing bulge.

They weren't left alone and able to talk until they had been escorted to lunch, which was really more like "midafternoon snack," but Misao was taking her pregnancy as an opportunity to fully indulge her voracious appetite, and Kaoru had no qualms about playing along. The head maid winked at them as she showed them to their seats, making sure Misao took note of the kawashi-mochi, elegantly sculpted to look like flowers. Misao was delighted: the red-bean snacks were a special favorite of hers, and they were supposed to improve a mother's breast milk.

"Which you know I worry about," she said between bites. "Dear Aoshi says that if it's really a problem we can always get a wet nurse, but even though it's a little selfish of me I don't want to share my baby with anyone except Lord Aoshi."

She finished her snack, tilting her head as her eyes focused, briefly.

"Right, then," she said cheerfully. "That's the last of the eavesdroppers gone, so let's get back to business."

Kaoru cast her own senses out, just a precaution. Misao had always been better at this sort of thing than she was, but she had her pride to consider. What was left of it, anyway. Her callouses were starting to soften already.

"You're right," Kaoru said, after a moment's hard listening with more than her ears. "So, you were saying, about the records…"

"Right! Like I said, there's the official story – and then there's what we've put together."

"Which is?"

Misao spread her hands open eloquently. "Nothing. For all we can tell, the official story _is_ true, and he _is_ the last survivor of a very minor branch of hereditary Tokugawa retainers who suffered a run of bad luck. He _did_ show up wearing the right crest, and with some kind of seal that served as proof of his identity. At least, that's what everyone who was there swears to. The only way to be sure would be to get our hands on the Tokugawa records…"

There was a contemplative, conspiratorial gleam in her eye as she said it.

"No!" Kaoru blurted out, shocked that her friend would even _consider_ such a thing. "Don't you dare, Misao, not you or anyone else! It's far too dangerous – I can't ask anyone – and anyway, that's not what's really important," she finished, flushing bright red.

"Probably not," Misao agreed, cheerfully. "But it would so much fun to try!"

"Misao!"

"Alright, alright, just joking. But you know, it might actually be really important. Where a person came from can tell you a lot about them."

"I suppose you're right…" Kaoru turned her teacup in her hand, staring at the liquid as it swirled clockwise. Even when she rotated the cup the other way the tea kept going, undisturbed. So why was she bothering?

_The sooner you accept your karma, the sooner you will know peace_.

"I just wish I knew _why_," she said, mostly to herself. "Is that too much to ask?"

"It's not." Misao's hand touched her wrist, light as a butterfly. "It's the most important question in any situation, more important even then _what_ or _how_. Once you know why, you can predict everything."

She settled back on her heels. "I wish I had an answer for you."

"I really don't think he's going to hurt me," Kaoru said quietly, and was surprised to find it was true. "I can't say why, not really. I just – I don't think anyone could look at someone they wanted to hurt the way he looks at me."

"And how's that?"

"Like." She closed her eyes. "Like a child looking at something they desperately want but know they can't ever have. And that's the weirdest thing!" she said, putting her tea down more forcefully than was actually necessary. "He _could!_ I'm his _wife!_ He can do whatever he wants, and he _wants_ to, but he won't. And Master Oguni… Master Oguni would never have come if he hadn't thought that Lord Himura meant it, when he said he thought that him coming back might make me happy."

Misao tilted her head and looked at Kaoru for a long moment, green eyes bright.

"Maybe…" she said slowly. "Well. Sometimes – well, you know how frightened I was to marry my Aoshi. I thought he was so cold, but… well, he _is_, but he's not. Not really. Most people aren't at all like they act in public, not really. Maybe Lord Himura's…"

_Not so bad?_ Kaoru heard the end of that sentence, but didn't dare say it out loud. And neither did Misao.

"I don't know," she said finally. "Or maybe it's just because I _am_ his wife, and it offends his honor. Except… his first wife…"

"Maybe she really _did_ betray him," Misao suggested. "I know the story says that he didn't wait to find out if it was true, but maybe he didn't have to. And – well, if she _did_ betray him, he wasn't _wrong_ to execute her. She had to have known the consequences of her actions, if she failed."

"I know," Kaoru said. Honor was very clear: the only thing that could cleanse the stain of treachery was the death of the traitor – or their success. If his first wife _had_ betrayed him, and been discovered, then she would have had to die. And death by the sword was cleaner than most: at the hands of a true master, it was downright merciful. But the story was always told as though he hadn't waited to know for certain. As if the mere _possibility_ of treachery had been enough to warrant her death, without a second's thought. That was what was terrifying, that utter ruthlessness.

"…do you think you could find out?"

"Hmm?" Misao blinked at her. "Find out what?"

"What actually happened. With his first wife. I think – maybe that's more important than his family?"

"Of course!" Misao smacked her fist into her open palm. "No, that totally makes sense! I'll get to work on that as soon as I'm home – it shouldn't be _that_ hard to track down witnesses and get the real story. I don't know why I didn't think of it. It's the most scandalous thing he's ever done, so what really happened is definitely going to shed some light on things."

She nodded firmly, alight with determination. "Don't worry, Kaoru. And just in case, I'll send Shirojo with you. He can pass as one of your guards, and he'll give you a way to get in touch with me at once if anything changes. And if worse comes to worst…"

"If worse comes to worst," Kaoru interrupted, "I've already got plans of my own. I don't want to endanger anyone else…"

Misao rolled her eyes a little at that. Kaoru glared, crossing her arms.

"Don't start," Misao said. "Tae's really sneaky and all, and I know you're a good fighter, but Shirojo is _trained_ for this. And besides – it'll make me feel better. You don't want to upset a pregnant woman, do you?"

She batted her eyelashes innocently at Kaoru. Kaoru flicked a rice cracker at her, grinning.

"I guess not."

And the thought of it did make her feel better. She'd have a link to Misao, her friend; to Aoshi, who was still loyal to her father's memory, whatever lip service he paid to Uncle Miyauchi and the Tokugawa. She wouldn't be alone. She _wasn't_ alone.

"Thank you, Misao," she said, and meant it.

"Of course!" Misao grinned at her, so hard that the corners of her eyes wrinkled. "What are friends for?"

* * *

The grand audience chamber of Hito Castle was much like every audience chamber Kenshin had ever been in. There were three levels: the lowest, where petitioners waited; the second level, where advisors sat in two perpendicular rows, forming a narrow path where each petitioner had to kneel when their turn came and feel the stares of the council boring into them; and then there was the third and highest level where the presiding lord sat, alone.

He supposed that he was meant to feel grand and powerful, overlooking the men who owed him fealty. Mostly he just felt awkward. Half of these men were taller than him, for pity's sake, and all of them knew the business of running a province better than he did. It hurt their pride to have to kowtow and speak softly around an outsider, especially an ignorant one. He could see it in the tension in their shoulders and hear it in their strained courtesies, and it was all he could do not to call a halt to the proceedings and tell them to speak honestly with him.

Actually, the only reason he wasn't doing precisely that was because he was fairly sure they'd consider it an insult. Or at least, enough of them would that it would only cause problems for everyone later on. And the rest would think it was some kind of trap.

Today he was meeting the village headmen. Or they were meeting him. The semantic distinction was apparently important, but he kept forgetting which one he was supposed to use. The headmen were not to be confused with the subordinate lords who managed the various fiefs within his province. The lords were all samurai, and charged only with protecting those lands. In return, they were supported by the farmers, who worked the land and managed most of internal affairs of the villages. Except when those internal affairs became too much for them, in which case the local samurai lord stepped in; or he could intervene simply because he felt like it, although this was frowned on because it could breed resentment. And every samurai, of course, owed his ultimate allegiance to the lord of the province, who also served as the court of final appeal should an issue become _so_ tangled that no local authority could possibly intervene successfully.

Who happened to be yours truly, Kenshin Himura. _Lord_ Kenshin Himura. Good grief. He could _hear_ his master laughing.

The end point of all this being: there was a whole new group of people he had to meet, and try to remember the names of as well as at least one pertinent fact, because he'd been raised to be polite. He was beginning to understand why lords were allowed to be rude, though; remembering all these people and how they related to each other and to him verged on impossible.

He'd just have to do his best.

It wasn't appropriate for a lord to smile in audience, but he tried to keep his face gentle as each nerve-wracked headman made the long walk between his chief advisors and administrators to prostrate himself before their new lord. He tried to put real welcome in his voice when he accepted their fealty and the small tokens they'd brought as tribute, even as he squirmed inwardly. And he did his best to appear to be listening carefully to any matters they brought to his attention – which more than a few of them did. The war had not been kind to any province, and there was a lot of rebuilding to do. Luckily, he wasn't expected to make any major decisions just then: that would come later, while he was meeting with his privy council.

Most of the headmen didn't seem to notice his efforts. Others noticed and responded with the same bewildered flinching he'd come to expect, clearly believing it to be a front. And a very precious few looked up, surprised, as the tension leaked suddenly from their bones. Those he was hard-pressed not to smile at out of simple relief.

Eventually they ran out of headmen. Kenshin was just about to call an end to the proceedings when Uramura coughed politely and shifted on his heels.

"Your pardon, my lord, but there is one last item of business."

"Yes?"

"As you may have been informed, the previous lord granted permission for a Christian," he stumbled slightly over the word, "temple to be constructed within the bounds of the capitol of this province. The foreign priest seeks to make himself known to your lordship."

Kenshin leaned forward, interested. He'd never met a Christian, aside from that shipwrecked – what was the word? – _iingirisu_, something like that – pilot that Lord Tokugawa had interviewed a few times in Osaka, and they'd barely exchanged two words. The foreigner had been understandably preoccupied with adjusting to his new circumstances, and anyway apparently he was a totally different kind of Christian, one who hated the priests who'd come with the Portuguese ships.

"Are they here now?" he asked.

"Ah – yes," Uramura said, blinking. "Is it my lord's will to grant them audience _now?_"

"Is that wrong?" He'd meant the question sincerely. Apparently it had been the wrong thing to say, because Uramura swallowed hard.

"No, my lord," he said, a little weakly. "If that is your desire."

"…send them in, then," Kenshin said, unable to keep the note of apology out of his voice. He _was_ curious about the foreigners and their religion, after all, and he didn't see the harm in letting them introduce themselves. He'd find a way to make up for the inconvenience to his council later.

The guards slid the door to the chamber open. There were three of them, all men, dressed in monk's robes. Only one was foreign: the other two were Japanese. Kenshin studied them as they went through the usual courtesies and settled themselves in front of him on the second tier. The foreigner had black hair and eyes, like most people, but his skin was far darker than normal and his eyes were very large and heavily lidded. It make him look sleepy. His mouth was strange, too: it was wider than seemed normal, and his jaw was quite square. It made him look a little deformed, to be honest, but the pilot had looked much the same so maybe that was normal for foreigners.

"This lowly person's name is," and here he said something that was presumably his name as he bowed, only Kenshin couldn't for the life of him understand it. He liked the sound, though: like water burbling out of a jar. "Please forgive my poor Japanese."

It was very fluent, and sounded rehearsed. Kenshin nodded.

"Welcome, honored priest," he said. "Might one know the names of your companions as well?"

The foreigner blinked and glanced at the younger of the Japanese men. He whispered quickly to the priest, whose eyes lit up.

"Your pardon, honored lord," the foreigner said. "These my brothers are. Their names," and here he said more words in that strange tongue. "Priests also."

"Brothers?" Kenshin peered at them, feeling slightly out of his depth. "Your pardon, honored priest, but one was told you were foreign…?"

The foreigner leaned towards the younger man again, who whispered something else, and more hurriedly.

"Brothers of faith," the foreigner clarified. "They Christian, too."

"Understood," Kenshin said, looking at each of the Japanese men in turn. "Ah – forgive one's rudeness, but – why did you join the foreign religion?"

It was a very personal question, and not one they could refuse to answer given the circumstances. And he wouldn't have asked, normally, but more than curiosity drove him now. Lord Tokugawa had spent much time brooding over the problem of the Portuguese and the religion they were so eager to spread. Trade with the foreigners relied on allowing them to preach their strange faith; it had been made clear, more than once, that banishing the priests would result in the loss of the vital Portuguese link in trade with China. It wasn't an issue Kenshin had paid much attention to, but since the opportunity was here and he was a lord now – heaven help him – he might as well try to learn something.

The Japanese men glance uneasily at the foreign priest, who smiled and waved them onward. Then they looked at each other, and Kenshin had to work very hard to suppress a smile at the brief, obvious, _silent_ duel over who was going to have to go first. The younger one lost.

"With my lord's permission," he said, bowing, "This lowly self will answer first. I was born," and he swallowed here, paling slightly, "I was born the son of a farmer, my lord, in the town of Yachiyo. A few years ago, the honored priest came to preach the scriptures to us, and I felt moved to pledge myself to God. The honored priest discovered that I have a gift for languages, my lord, and Lord – the previous lord granted permission for me to leave my home and join the Church, so that I might serve as an interpreter. It was his custom, my lord, to seek out knowledge, and he wished to be able to converse more easily with the honored foreign priest that they might learn from one another."

Kenshin felt a surge of sympathy for the boy, taken from his ordinary life because of a useful gift and thrust in the middle of a world he wasn't prepared for. He wondered what the youngster would think, if he knew how much they had in common. But that wasn't anyone's business except the ancestors Lord Tokugawa had offended with his little deception, and they'd answer for that in the next life, not this one. And Kenshin had gone willingly into service to the Tokugawa, after all, even if he hadn't completely understood what he was signing up for. He nodded in what he hoped was an understanding sort of way.

"One will not be taking up permanent residence here for some time yet, that I won't," he commented, trusting everyone present to catch the implication that he didn't intend to continue that particular tradition, at least not for now. "However, one sees little reason to undo a decision already made."

And that was for the youngster, just in case he was worried about being sent back home.

The younger man bowed again and retreated, and now it was the older fellow's turn to shuffle forward and bow in introduction.

"My lord, I was born the second son of Mitsunari Watanabe. My father was privileged to hear the honored priest teaching the Word of Lord and, although he himself did not convert, he sent me to serve the honored priest and join his church."

_Another marriage of convenience_, Kenshin thought wryly, and then had to spend a moment forcing his wife from his mind to focus on the task at hand. Which was remarkably difficult, now that he'd seen her smile. A connection with the priests was a connection with the foreign traders, which was always useful. He'd be very surprised if this Mitsunari Watanabe had truly cared about the foreign religion.

"Well," he said, more questions forming. Then he caught his councilors shifting restlessly. "One more question, then," he said, seizing on the first one that came to mind that didn't seem likely to result in too much conversation. "One has seen images – of a man being executed, so I have. One is told this is the god you worship?"

"It is so, my lord," said the youngster.

"Why?" he asked, careful to keep only genuine curiosity in his voice. Crucifixion was the most disgraceful of all deaths, reserved for commoners who had committed murder or theft. There was nothing honorable or clean about it – not that death was normally clean, but given the choice between the sword and the slow agony and humiliation of the cross…

And by the looks the three exchanged, and their whispered conference, he had a sudden horrible feeling that he'd gone and stepped in it. Finally, the foreigner spoke.

"The Lord dies for us," he said, patting lightly at his chest. "All pain – for us. That we do not feel it, yes? That we are saved from sin."

_With my blade, I can bring forth a more peaceful world…_

He'd slaughtered his way across dozens of battlefields, leaving rivers of blood in his wake. Men had fallen like leaves where he passed, and he'd hated every moment of it. There was no honor or glory in what he did: no one stood a chance against him. There could be no fair fight once he took the field, only slaughter. Necessary slaughter – to unify Japan, to put an end to the dozens upon dozens of warring lords who'd ravaged the land for far too long, who'd burned and sacked villages simply because they were there – and he could still see the banners waving in the smoke as he searched for his mother, father, uncle, _anyone_ –

_If dirtying my blade will bring about an era of peace…_

How many had been sacrificed? How many had borne the burden of Japan's salvation? He'd ended so many lives, wrought so much suffering, and yet _he_ was the one sitting here in wealth and splendor. Lord Himura. What a hideous _joke_ – and not remotely funny.

…he'd promised her that he would live on, regardless, and he had to keep on because he'd broken every other vow that mattered. So he would carry on. He _would_. And maybe, if he carried on long enough, he'd figure out why he was bothering.

"My lord?" Uramura's voice snapped him out of it. His audience was looking at him strangely, and he waved his hand dismissively.

"It's nothing," he said, catching his breath. "That will be all, it will. The council will meet after the noon meal."

He stood, gathering the damnable court robes around him, and walked out of the chamber.

* * *

Kaoru stood in the door of the training hall, palms sweating. It was empty – this was the private hall, for family use only, not the common one that all the retainers used. Her stomach knotted as she bowed and stepped inside.

It had been Misao who'd put the idea in her head by reminding her that she was a fighter. She was a fine swordswoman, or she had been. She had been strong in her own right, and it had been _her_ strength, something she'd earned with sweat and strain and long hours of discipline, not by right of birth. Something she and her father had shared, just between the two of them. Part of his promise to Mother – that his daughters would always be able to choose their own destinies. He'd raised her to fight, and to keep fighting.

She hadn't practiced since his death, almost six months ago.

The hardest part had been finding a set of practice clothes. Those possessions she'd deemed too dear to part with had gone with her to Edo; everything else had stayed behind, to be packed up for storage or redistributed elsewhere. It hadn't amounted to much, in the end: her sewing kit, her mother's jewels, the calligraphy set her father had given her on her thirteenth birthday. The rest had been meaningless, easy to replace with finer versions as part of her trousseau.

She hadn't taken her swords with her. It hadn't seemed right. They belonged to a different girl – a girl, not a woman. A girl who knew she'd be able to choose, who had planned to choose a man proud to marry a woman who carried them at her side, a woman who would never stop fighting. Not the woman who'd given up and allowed herself to be sold like a rack of dried fish. So she'd given her swords to the family's shrine instead, as an offering to the gods. Maybe they'd make better use of them.

It would have been easier to get herself some practice clothes if she'd asked for help, but she didn't really want anyone to know, not even Tae. There was something hushed and sacred about this; she felt like she had as a young girl, stealing sips of sake from her father's cup. Except she was stealing herself back, piece by piece, and she knew it was probably a terrible idea that if Lord Himura discovered her he would probably disapprove, as most men would – but something in his eyes when he looked at her made her think that even if he didn't approve, he wouldn't stop her.

And anyway, sneaking down to the common practice area and filching a set of clothes had been _fun_. She'd nearly forgotten what that felt like.

The training hall hadn't changed. For a moment, she was in the past: she turned, half-expecting to see her father coming in behind her. He'd nod, maybe tease her a little about putting off practice until so late in the day. They'd go through the warm-ups together; then kata; then sparring. And when they finally came down from the high, clear place where it was only flesh and steel and warrior's instinct, Mother would be sitting in the doorway with a tolerant smile to tell them that they were late for dinner.

Her eyes stung hot, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. Then she took a wooden practice sword down from the rack and moved into the first position.

It was slow going at first. Not because she didn't remember, but because she didn't remember _enough_. Movements that should have been graceful were clumsy: her strikes were weak, and she took a beat to follow through instead of making it all one smooth motion. Even with no one to see it was embarrassing how much she'd lost, and her own frustrated shame inhibited her further until finally she came to a halt in the center of the floor and simply _breathed_, long and slow.

Her spirit was strong. The techniques were there. They _would_ return.

Then she began again, slow as if she had only just picked up a blade, with the first strike she'd ever learned. Precision first. Speed and power would come later, when the technique was hers again.

Strike. Strike. Strike.

Again and again, until her neglected muscles began to burn. She paused to wipe the sweat from her eyes and retie her hair.

Strike. Strike. Strike.

The practice blade cut a smooth, slow arc in the air. She resisted the urge to speed up and kept her eyes fixed on her weapon, watching for any deviation from the true line and exhaling hard with each strike, not quite a true battle cry. Not yet.

Strike. Strike. Strike.

And, eventually, the burn in her arms and back smoothed into a pleasant ache that meant that she was _working_ again, not just waking up. She sped up a little, letting the rhythm of the exercise take her, and the fire in her belly leapt higher and higher until it _finally_ blazed bright again and she _snapped_ her sword down with a piercing shout.

But once doesn't count. So she did it again, and again, until fifty strikes later she was as convinced as she was going to get that the technique had come back. Kaoru stuck her wooden sword through her belt and stood still for a moment, head thrown back, allowing herself that much triumph. Then she turned to leave: she was thirsty, and she needed to check the time. Maybe she'd be able to work in a bit more practice before she had to bathe and change to attend to her husband…

Who was standing in the doorway.

"Your pardon," he said mildly, and the heat in his eyes scorched her. "One didn't wish to interrupt, that I did not."

Her hand fell to the sword hilt automatically, but she didn't feel any rage in him. Only that terrible heat, like the longing in his eyes whenever he looked at her but so, so much sharper.

"I appreciate your courtesy," she said, tightening her gut to keep her voice from breaking. "Have I interrupted your practice?"

"No," he said tightly, and swallowed. "One did not know that you practiced the sword."

"Since I was a girl." He didn't make any move towards her. "My father taught me."

She took her hand off the hilt and walked past him to the water barrel just below the porch surrounding the hall. He held himself completely still, and she had a sense of terrible force barely holding itself in check. The doorway wasn't quite large enough for both of them, and her sleeve brushed his: she thought she heard him gasp, and then he was inside the dojo and going through his own warm-up routine with stiff efficiency.

Kaoru gulped down a ladle of water and then tossed a second one over her head. She checked the sun, shading her eyes. Still a good hour or so before dinner, and she didn't want to stop practicing just yet. Maybe…

She went back up the steps.

"Excuse me," she called from the doorway. "Honored husband?"

He paused mid-movement, just for a moment, and then completed it before responding.

"Yes?"

"If it's not too much intrusion… I had wanted to practice a bit more. Is it alright if I take the other end of the hall?"

His eyes widened – the heat in them was banked, and he looked almost as guileless as he normally did.

"Of course it is," he said. "It's no trouble, that it's not."

"Thank you." She bowed back into the hall and drew out her practice sword, running through the first movement a few more times for good measure, and then beginning on the second one. She could hear her husband practicing, although she faced away from him: she could feel his presence, too, now that he wasn't tamping it down. There was no rage in it that she could detect, only a deep focus on what he was doing and hints of… curiosity?

She shook herself and refocused on her work. If he wasn't going to make a big deal out of her swordsmanship, than she wasn't going to bring it up. There were too many unknowns in the situation. As she practiced, she found that he became simply part of the landscape, and that was… nice. She wasn't used to practicing alone.

Eventually she sank fully into the flow of swordsmanship. Time passed, not unpleasantly, until she heard Lord Himura clear his throat.

"Ah, honored wife?"

And despite the hour she'd spent in his company, a cold hand of fear still shot up her spine. Maybe he'd been waiting for her to dig her own grave… But _nothing _about him felt like a threat. Not even that strange heat, earlier: overwhelming and powerful, yes, but not _dangerous_. Never dangerous.

She faced him, putting on her politest smile. "Yes, honored husband?"

"It's nearly time for dinner, so it is," he said, with a note of apology in his voice. "Would you prefer to take the first bath, or…?"

"Oh, is it that late already?" She strode over to the door and glanced up at the darkening sky. "I guess it is. Well, Father always said it was important not to miss meals."

She winced even as she said it, knowing that she sounded like a child. But her husband's mouth quirked a little in amusement.

"A wise man, that he was."

Kaoru put her wooden sword back on the rack. Lord Himura didn't resume practicing. She cocked a quizzical brow at him.

"Is there anything else, my lord?"

"Ah." He ran his thumb uneasily along the bindings on the hilt of his sword. "Forgive one's rudeness, but one did notice that you do not train with a true sword… is that a personal preference?"

"Oh." She flushed a little, uncertain. "I, ah – I gave my sword to the gods, after my father died. As an offering."

His brow furrowed. "You've not purchased another?"

"...no." She looked away. "I – "

He kept looking expectantly at her and the words froze on her tongue. A few days ago, she wouldn't have hesitated: she would have said, coldly, that a noble lady has no need of the warrior's arts, laced it with all her bitterness and smiled inwardly when he flinched. And then he'd gone and asked Master Oguni to come and care for the garden – _asked_, not ordered, because he thought it might make her happy.

It wasn't the action of an enemy, of someone who deserved her hate and her contempt, of a monster with no human feeling.

But if he didn't – if he wasn't – then what _was_ he?

And could she afford to take the chance?

"…forgive me, honored husband." Her voice was very soft. "It's… a long story."

He bowed his head, and she thought maybe he'd understood anyway.

"A warrior should not be without a weapon," he said, after a moment's pause. "Please – one must confess that it has been some time since one has purchased a sword, so it has," and he tried to smile at that, tentative, like someone who isn't sure they've been forgiven, "but – if there is anything one can do to assist, that is…"

She turned sharply on her heel, knowing it was rude but unwilling to let him probe further, and felt him retreating. Her eyes closed and her hands tightened, not quite forming fists. And now he was offering to _arm_ her. And that smile – why would he seek her _forgiveness?_ As though her opinion of him mattered, when she was his lawful wife and bound to obey his every whim.

"I'll – I'll keep that in mind," she forced out, past the indescribable _something_ welling in her throat, and left to bathe.

* * *

Kenshin didn't eat dinner that night; he wasn't terribly hungry and he'd never had much of an appetite. And he'd forced his presence on the Lady Kaoru enough for one day. He ordered tea, instead, and took out the old calligraphy set. _Her_ calligraphy set; she had given it to him, but it would always be hers. It had been a kind of joke between them: his untutored scrawls next to her elegant lines.

_The art of calligraphy is the art of the sword_, his master had told him, years and tides of blood ago. _Brushstroke, swordstroke: neither, once made, can be undone. Do you understand?_

He hadn't. Not until it was too late.

He became aware of the slow shuffle of feet towards his door. A woman: one of the maids, bringing his tea. He sighed, very quietly, and prepared to ignore her. He had tried to be kind to his servants, once, to learn their names and faces and take an interest in their lives, and then he'd realized that kindness frightened them even more. Now he simply ignored them.

"Excuse me, I've brought the tea," the maid called from beyond the shoji.

"Enter," he said shortly, staring at the blank rice paper and remembering._  
_  
_Your handwriting is terrible, dear husband, _and her eyes had laughed even as her mouth stayed fixed in that gentle line. He'd apologized for it, uncertain, and she'd nudged the writing desk towards him.

_I will teach you,_ she'd said. _When all this is over._ And she'd looked up at him, and for brief moment her serene mask had cracked, and she had smiled at shoji slid open. He looked up, briefly, and his eyes widened.

"Honored husband." The Lady Kaoru bowed briefly and stepped through, carrying the tea tray. "May I join you?"

He stared at her and swallowed, hard. She was wearing a simple kimono – of course she was, it wasn't breakfast or dinner. This was what she normally wore, how she always looked; the only times he really saw her were formal occasions – a simple kimono with a pattern of white magnolia blossoms against a deep blue background. Her hair was tied back in a mare's tail, as it had been that afternoon when he'd invaded her sword practice, instead of swept up and encrusted with hairpins and jewels. Two bangs framed her face, bringing out the strength in her face.

His fingers twitched with a sudden urge to reach out and grasp one of the strands, to run it through his fingers and know that she was real. It wasn't as though she could stop him_. _She was staring directly at him, with that bold, fearless gaze she had whenever she thought he wasn't looking, whenever she wasn't trying her hardest to be an innocuous wife, and he couldn't think what he had possible done to be rewarded with this willing glimpse behind her mask.  
_  
_Then her gaze fell on the writing desk in front of him.

"Forgive me, honored husband," she said, setting down the tray with eyes downcast. Her mask was on again. "I've interrupted your meditations. I shall be going now." And then she was walking away.

"Wait!" The cry came unbidden. She stopped, almost to the shoji, and he put his hand down quickly before she could see he'd reached out. "Honored wife. Please. One would be delighted to have your company, that I would."

He bowed slightly as he said it, an invitation and an apology. She was still for a heartbeat, then turned.

"As you wish, honored husband," she said, and went to sit beside him.

The day was drawing to a close. The dying light cast the garden in muted tones: soft purples and greys, and shadows black as charcoal. They knelt side-by-side, watching the flowers grow, and above their heads the night bled ink into the lingering sunset. He could feel her warmth, even across the gap between them: only a few inches, but it might as well have been miles. Kenshin studied her profile in the dying light, all his unvoiced wishes yearning towards her, and refused to put words around his desires. Even in the silence of his heart.

There was a _plop_ of splashing water from the pond. The Lady Kaoru smiled, brief and wistful.

"Ginko," she said quietly. There was laughter in her voice.

"Ginko?" He spoke without quite meaning to and flicked his gaze quickly away from hers when she looked at him, staring out into the garden instead. Ripples were spreading across the water's surface. For a moment he thought she might not answer.

"The silver carp," she said, voice still soft. "She's a family heirloom, you know."

"I didn't." He sipped nervously at his tea.

"Family legend says she's over two hundred years old. I don't know if that's true, but she was already that size when I was born, and Father swore she was alive when he was a child. And that his father swore the same thing to him. So maybe she is that old."

It was the most she'd ever said to him at one time, and the only time she'd ever spoken freely. Her voice was clear and bright, and beautiful. Like everything else about her.

Kenshin took another sip of tea, larger than was prudent, and fought back a cough.

"…you love this place very much, so you do." He exhaled softly as he said it, not quite a sigh.

"It's my home," she said, matter-of-fact and yet not. There was grief there, grief he didn't know how to assuage. "Or it was. Now my home is wherever my lord husband chooses."

Well, no. He did. He just didn't want to; but he had to, and a clear salt-stained hollow grew in his chest as he contemplated what he was going to do. What he'd known he had to do ever since he'd seen her in the training hall that afternoon, completely in her element, heard the things she'd left unsaid and realized the extent of the sacrifice she'd made for her family's sake.

"And if one chose this place?" he asked her, so quietly that she leaned unconsciously towards him to hear it, and he caught the scent of jasmine rising from her skin.

"…my lord?" Her eyes were wary and dark in the growing shadows. "I thought the shōgun required your presence in Edo for at least another year."

"True." His fingers tightened around the teacup. "But you need not reside there, you do not. When one returns to Edo… if you wish to remain behind, at Hito, that is, then… you may."

She drew away, back straightening, and stared hard at him.

"Have I displeased you, honored husband?"

"No," he said, confused. "But one – "

"Then why are you sending me away?" There was fear in her voice – his fault – when there should never be fear in her. Kenshin felt the peace of the moment slipping away and lunged for it as best he could.

"No! Not sent away." He gulped air like a drowning man. "One – one is not _displeased_. It is only that," another deep breath, "…one never saw you smile, in Edo. It seems you only smile when you are here."

She exhaled slowly, sounding almost surprised, and her shoulders sank down in a sudden release of tension.

"One does not – cannot – pretend to understand your circumstances, honored wife," he continued, hoping he was making some kind of a sense as the words stumbled over themselves on his tongue. "One does not expect you to be – happy – with the situation, as it is. But, given the circumstances, one hopes – one hopes at the very least to avoid causing you further distress, that I do. Very much."

She stared at the cup in her hands, face very still, turning it slowly counterclockwise while the tea whirled the opposite direction. He waited. There was nothing else he could do.

"My sisters," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"My sisters. Can you – can you transfer their guardianship to me? So that they come with us, when we return to Edo?"

"Oro?"

Her lips twitched upward in honest amusement, a pale reflection of the smile that had hit him like a lightning bolt in the garden the other day but close enough to make his heart feel like it was breaking.

"You – will return to Edo?" he said, recovering as quickly as he could.

"If my sisters can come with me."

"One – yes. That can be done," he said weakly, overcome with the feeling that the world had tilted very slightly on its axis while he wasn't looking. "Will be done. That is."

"It's settled, then," she said primly, sipping her tea for the first time since she'd sat down and looking out across the night garden. Kenshin watched her in astonishment, uncertain – for the first time – of her feelings and motives.

She didn't feel _afraid_. There had been none of the dire courage that had enveloped her on their wedding night, that sense of a warrior walking bravely to their doom. He didn't quite know how to describe the change in her, except that the fire in her heart seemed brighter than ever. As it had when he'd walked in on her that afternoon. She had been _blazing_ with power, alight with it, and it taken everything he had not to catch her up in his arms and kiss her breathless. He'd _wanted_ her – wanted her as he hadn't wanted a woman in years. As he'd never thought he'd want anyone again.

She'd seen it. She had to have seen it. He'd barely been able to control his reaction, never mind hide it.

How had that changed things between them?

But even as he tried to figure it out, a deeper knowledge welled up from under his confusion. She wasn't afraid of him. Not anymore. _She wasn't afraid._

And that thought kept him warm long after the tea was done and she retired for the evening to her separate chamber.


	4. the female of the species

**A/n: So, I've gotten some reviews that have indicated a general confusion over some of the historical aspects of this setting, here. Although I'm not going overboard on the historical accuracy, I am drawing from history to some extent, so I thought maybe I should take this time to give a quick primer. Probably should have done this earlier, but I is dumb sometimes.  
**

**The Tokugawa - this story is set in literally the first year of the Tokugawa regime. The era preceeding the Tokugawa shogunate was known as the Warring States Period, and it was a _shitty_ time to be alive. Over a hundred years of constant civil war; neither law nor order, nor any power save what you could wrest from others. It was a chaotic, dangerous, bloody time. And the Tokugawa _put an end to it_. Japan was both peaceful and prosperous under their rule. Yes, they were a military dictatorship and ferociously oppressive by modern standards, but they were yards better than what had come before. They're not actually the bad guys, here. Not necessarily the good guys, either, but hey, that's history for ya.**

**Oh, and here's a cute little joke I made in the first chapter. Remember the representative from the Mori clan? Well, the Mori actually existed, and they did get most of their lands stripped from them because their lord was kinda of a dumbass. They never, _ever_ forgave the Tokugawa for what they'd lost; by the time the Tokugawa were through with them, all they really had left was a little place named Choshuu...**

**Iingirisu no**** anjin**** - As naraku-doll, Mama Kat, sirenmergirl, Crystale no otaku, and Fenris Jin noted, that is indeed a reference to William Adams. Who you should wiki, right now, because his life story is kind of amazing. Ladies/gentlemen, your no-prize should be arriving on April 31st. :D**

**Jesuits**** - This was pretty much the major foreign policy issue of the time period that I set this story in. We're on the run-up to the expulsion of all foreigners from Japan, so it's kind of an issue, and it's certainly one that Kenshin would be expected to engage with at some point. The tl;dr is this: Japan needs to trade with China. Japan can only trade with China via the Portuguese, because politics. In order to trade with the Portuguese, Japan has to tolerate the presence of Christian missionaries, specifically Jesuits. This wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that the Jesuits keep doing things that can be interpreted as trying to meddle in Japanese politics. And, to be fair, they probably _were_ trying to meddle, since the Jesuit conversion strategy was to get all the leaders to convert and then it would trickle down to the masses from there. So. Jesuits. They were A Problem. They will probably be showing up again**

**That being said, on with the show!**

* * *

They left Hito Castle about midmorning, on a day that was ferociously hot for so early in the year. The road was baked hard as a rock, and their passage sent up clouds of dust that choked the palanquin-bearers and was probably fairly miserable for the Lady Kaoru, who was forbidden to ride by her sex and station. Kenshin kept the horses as far back in the procession as was feasible to try and cut down on the worst of it, except for his own grey mare. He rode a little bit behind her palanquin, inside the guard perimeter. Just in case.

The change in regime had left quite a few samurai masterless and without income, and desperate men were the most dangerous kind. And although peasants had been forbidden to carry weapons for the past ten years, many who had been trained before the ban kept their skills sharp in secret. The country was well on its way to true unity, but the villages were still being unsettled by the disruptions among the nobility. There were enough dissidents and ronin moving openly through the countryside that a little extra caution was warranted.

Especially since the lady didn't travel alone; her sisters were with her. And while it was unacceptable to fail in his duty to her, it was _beyond_ unacceptable to allow children under his protection to come to harm.

The girls had been overjoyed to hear that they were going to live with their elder sister. Their aunt and uncle, less so; Kenshin had had to tread very carefully there, barely managing to get away with nothing more than a promise to seriously consider taking Sir Miyauchi's son on as a page, and to give an answer in the matter soon. There had been an implication that he was to forget his wife's words on the matter and focus on the political advantages of strengthening his ties with the former ruling family of his province. After all, it had been strongly hinted, while no dutiful samurai would dare contravene the authority of the shōgun and, by extension, the Imperial Son of Heaven, not all samurai were as honorable as they should be.

"In other words," he muttered to himself, "give us what we want, or we'll make trouble."

This was politics, then. No wonder his master had told him to stay out of it.

One of the guards cleared his throat.

"My lord?"

"Yes?" Kenshin blinked down at him. The man swallowed.

"Forgive this lowly person," he said carefully, "but I did not quite hear my lord's command."

"Command – ? Oh. Ah. One was only thinking aloud – it's nothing."

"Of course, my lord," he said quickly. "Your pardon."

Kenshin stifled a sigh as the guard resumed his careful watch of the road. He was going to have to watch his tendency to talk to himself; it was a bad habit, anyway. He wasn't sure where he'd picked it up, but Sano had teased him about it fairly soon after they'd met, so it must have started shortly after…

He shook his head quickly, as if he could chase away the memories. But it was too late. It had become harder and harder not to remember as he and the Lady Kaoru settled into a delicate cease fire. It was hard not to feel that he'd danced this dance before, that he knew how this story would end: he'd been paralyzed more than once over the past few days by the sudden conviction that he needed to refuse her company, to order her to stay in Hito and far away from him.

But every time he'd tried to say it the words had frozen solid in his throat. He was working on convincing himself that it was because it would be easier to protect her if she was close by, but he'd always been a terrible liar.

"What it is," he started to mutter again, and then caught himself. _What it is, is that you're a selfish fool who ought to be ashamed of himself; there are no second chances for men such as you – _

Screams rang out from the rear of the procession. The palanquin halted immediately, the guards falling into a ready stance as Kenshin pulled his horse around. He shielded his eyes against the sun, saw the mob of ragged, armed men falling on the packhorses, and in the next heartbeat he was on the ground and the mare was galloping off as she'd been trained to. She wasn't a warhorse, after all.

She didn't need to be.

He drew his sword, measuring the distance between himself and the bandits and tensed to cover it. Then he froze, because the enemy was over _there_, but the Lady Kaoru and her sisters were over _here_, and those were men who answered to _him_ falling and bleeding into the dust but _his wife was here_ –

"Go!" he shouted at the palanquin guards, acting on his decision before he realized he'd made it. "Help them!"

He pointed to the struggling second half of the procession. The guards glanced at each other, uncertain; Kenshin glared and roared in his master's voice.

"_Now!_"

They charged. The bearers stared at him, wide-eyed, and he snarled at them to _run_ and find safety. They obeyed immediately, setting down the palanquin with a jarring thud. The door started to swing open and he then was next to it, forcing it closed.

"What's happening?" Lady Kaoru demanded, eyes fierce. There was a dagger in her hand. Her sisters huddled behind her, eyes wide and silent as only a samurai daughter could be when danger came.

"Stay here, honored wife," he told her as a second wave crested over the hill just beyond the palanquin, putting all his urgency into his voice. "Do not stray from this spot."

Kenshin had just enough time to notice her look at his face and blanch, and then the mob and the blood-tide took him.

Of all his many shames, this was perhaps one of the greatest: that he only felt guilty _after_ the battle, when he returned to himself and saw the human wreckage lying around him. In the moment, in the heat of the fight, the world slowed and the men he cut down seemed to have no more substance or self than shadows. They were targets, nothing more, a collection of vulnerabilities, cut _here_ and thrust _there_.

They couldn't touch him. After the first dozen fell in the space between two breaths, they didn't even try. They broke and ran and he let them run, because they weren't a threat any longer.

Except one. This bandit had separated from the mob before the charge and crept up on the opposite side of the palanquin, matchlock rifle in hand. His hand was on the door when Kenshin howled a challenge and charged; the bandit jolted back and raised his rifle. There was a crack of gunfire and a searing pain in his shoulder as Kenshin leapt over the palanquin and swept his sword across and down, the familiar resistance of bone against steel jarring briefly through his wrists and shocking his wound. Blood and viscera sprayed through the air to drench the front of his clothes and the bandit fell into the dust in two neat halves.

His shoulder ached. Kenshin grabbed at it, his blood seeping warmly through his fingers. The rest of the bandits were fleeing; some of the guards were pursuing, while the rest were dealing with the wounded. There was no immediate threat.

"My lady wife," he said, turning to the palanquin as he sheathed his sword. "You are unhurt?"

The rush of battle was fading rapidly, and the ache in his shoulder was spreading to consume the rest of him. His vision greyed out, briefly, and he shook his head. Mistake. It only made him dizzier. He really should let someone get the bullet out before it poisoned his blood…

Had to be sure.

"Are you alright?" he asked again, taking a step forward. The lady was partway out of the palanquin, still clutching the dagger, and her eyes were wide and shocky. Afraid. Again. His fault.

"…I'm fine," she whispered. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, forgetting that he was soaked in another man's blood.

"That's well, so it is…" he said, tongue lying thick and strangely unresponsive in his mouth. It was hard to think past the throbbing heat in his shoulder. "One does not wish… for harm…"

The world tilted under his feet and he stumbled, falling to one knee.

"…your pardon, honored wife," he managed to mumble, and then the world went away for a while.

* * *

Kaoru stared at her husband for a long heartbeat: stared at the blood staining his clothes and trickling in rivulets from the body lying on the packed earth behind him. It rolled like raindrops down the slight slope in the road, gathering dust at the head of each stream like floodwater debris.

"Big sister?"

She turned automatically to Ayame, her numb hand still clenched around her dagger. Her sisters were curled in the corner behind her, clutching tight to one another. Suzume had buried her face in Ayame's sleeve. Which was only to be expected: she was still just a child. Ayame was pale with fright but she hadn't looked away, and in some distant place Kaoru resolved to praise her sister for her courage as soon as her heart stopped roaring in her ears.

Nothing _human_ could have moved like he had. Like the lightning, or a striking snake…

"Is it over?" Ayame asked, and Kaoru forced a reassuring smile.

"I think so, little sister," she said, sliding one foot gingerly out of the palanquin. The blood split to flow around her sandal. "Stay there a while longer while I go and see, alright?"

"'kay." There was the barest tremor of unshed tears in her voice, but she kept control.

Lord Himura had rolled onto his side when he collapsed. Some of the blood was running into his hair. _Dyed by the blood of his victims_, the rumours said, and she realized suddenly that they couldn't possibly be true. Blood was far too deep a red. The colors didn't match at all.

"…ru. Lady Kaoru. My lady."

Shirojo's voice faded in past the roaring and she turned to him, breath short and sharp in her lungs. Misao had kept her promise; she'd found Shirojo insinuated among her personal guard the day after the hot springs, the day after her husband had offered her freedom – as much freedom as could be offered, anyway – and she had turned him down. Why had she done that? There had been a reason…

"_My lady_," Shirojo said, as sharply as he dared. "Are you hurt?"

"…no," she whispered, and swallowed. "No," she said again, willing strength into her voice. Her spine straightened and she lifted her chin, looking past him to the slaughter that surrounded the palanquin. Men's bodies lay like broken dolls, shattered and piecemeal. None of them had stood a chance. Lord Himura had moved through them like wildfire in a drought, and blood had flown as water in his wake.

She glanced down to where he lay at her feet, slack-faced and unconscious. Such a small man, such a delicate frame. How could the demon she'd just seen be the same man who stumbled over his own words and flinched when he met her eyes, who looked at her as though she was something remote and precious and untouchable…?

Kaoru sucked down a deep breath, ignoring the foul, fruity smell of voided bowels and scattered brain matter.

"Lord Himura is injured," she said, more firmly. "One of the bandits had a rifle. He needs a doctor as soon as possible."

"Over here!" Shirojo called, gesturing to the other guards. "Hurry! Our lord is wounded!"

There was a mass migration towards the palanquin and its charnel mess. Not an organized one: she saw some men leaving the wounded half-tended.

"Stop!"

The men ignored her. She snorted, momentarily too frustrated to be stunned, and turned to Shirojo again.

"Shirojo, don't let them leave off caring for the wounded," she snapped. "The bandits might come back. We need to get to the village as soon as possible."

He nodded, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Oy!" he bellowed. "See to the wounded! Get everyone moving! We need to get to the village! You, you, and you," he shouted, pointing to the three warriors closest to the scene. "Help me get our lord in the palanquin! Lady Kaoru," he said, lowering his voice, "I'm afraid you and your sisters are going to have to walk…"

"It's no trouble," she said automatically, holding out her hand to her sisters. "Ayame, Suzume. Come on, now. We have to let Lord Himura have the palanquin."

Suzume shook her head and hugged her sister tighter. Ayame looked up at Kaoru, helpless, and there were tears glimmering in the corner of her eyes.

"Suzume," Kaoru said softly. "Remember that you are samurai."

"_No,_" Suzume choked out. "Don't wanna. Don't _wanna!_"

Ayame was on the verge of breaking down herself. Her lower lip trembled. Kaoru knelt down, and blood soaked through her kimono at the knees.

"Come here." She opened her arms. "It's alright now."

Suzume threw herself into Kaoru's arms and buried her face in her sister's shoulder, sobbing. Ayame crept carefully out from the shadowed corner of the palanquin and grabbed Kaoru's hand tightly before she stepped carefully into the road, staring determinedly at the middle distance. Kaoru kept a firm grip on her sister's hand as she stood, cradling Suzume in her other arm. Hot tears seeped into her clothes where Suzume was quietly weeping.

"Hush now," she murmured, holding her littlest sister close. "Ssh. It's alright. You're samurai and the daughter of samurai, little sister, you don't need to be afraid."

"Big sister?" Ayame's hand started shaking in her own. Kaoru glanced down and saw that she was staring at Lord Himura as his men crowded around him, doing their best to stop the bleeding and checking for any other wounds. Not that they would find any.

"Is lord brother-in-law going to be okay?"

"Of course," Kaoru said smoothly, although she didn't know. If the doctor could get the bullet out, maybe; if not, then blood poisoning would set in, and odds were she'd be a widow before much longer. "He's very strong. Everything's going to be fine."

Ayame nodded and pressed herself against Kaoru's leg. Carefully, Kaoru led her sisters away from her husband's slaughterground, stepping gingerly through the strewn remains. Lord Himura's horse grazed idly at the side of the road, unconcerned.

"My lady." Shirojo bowed slightly to her. "Some of the bandits were captured. What should we do with them?"

"What should you…?" she repeated, then caught herself. "Who are they? Ronin?"

"Some." He exhaled, hard. "Some are peasants, my lady. I believe – I think some of the farmers are from Hito. My lady."

_From Hito_. The implications were cold enough to cut through the fog of fading adrenaline. Hito farmers had turned bandit, had attacked their appointed lord – the lord that the shōgun had granted the province to, disregarding generations of Kamiya rule. It was easily interpreted as a sign of rebellion; the very rebellion that Lord Himura was tasked with preventing by any means necessary.

Ayame protested as her hand was suddenly crushed.

They needed to be killed, here and now, before anyone could identify them. She knew that. She _knew_ that. She knew the order she had to give, and nevermind that they were her _people_, whom she was honor-bound to guide and guard from harm…

If she sent them to her uncle he would only make examples of them. Lord Himura would most likely do the same, if she waited for him to recover and deferred to his wishes. It was the rational, political thing to do: they and their families would die long and unclean deaths, to frighten any further dissidents and prove that the rulers of the province accepted the Tokugawa yoke without reservation. To spare them now would only ensure that she was not personally responsible for their deaths, would only force others to bloody their hands…

Her father had told her: _that is what means, to lead men. Our lives are not our own._

Kaoru closed her eyes and took a breath, drawing air and life into her core and letting it out slowly.

"The ronin are masterless, but they are still samurai," she said finally. "Give them the chance to die as samurai; have some of the men serve as seconds. As for the others… quickly. Without pain. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady." Shirojo bowed, and she couldn't read his face. Then he went to carry out her orders.

* * *

The village wasn't far. Kaoru could have walked it easily, if not for the girls; so she'd commandeered one of the packhorses and loaded them on it, walking with one hand on the old mare's neck while Shirojo held the reins.

Tae was safe. Kaoru had been able to ascertain that much before the guards had started pressing everyone to move, now. Tae was safe and unharmed and had everything well under control: in fact, most of the servants were fine. It was mainly samurai who'd been injured.

No one had been able to take Lord Himura's horse in hand, nor had they needed to. She'd followed her master's palanquin without being instructed, occasionally butting her head against the bearers' backs and snorting, apparently because she liked the way it made them jump. The bearers were pale and shaking: the guards had nearly executed them all for deserting their posts before Kaoru had managed to convince them that Lord Himura had ordered them to hide.

She had trouble believing it herself, come to think of it. How could a man show such consideration for the least of his entourage and yet be… what he was? Do what he had done? A dozen men slaughtered in less time than it took to draw breath…

One guard had ridden ahead to warn the village that they were coming, banner snapping in the wind. The rest of the procession moved as quickly as they could, leaving the blood and bodies where they'd fallen. Every ronin in the attack had chosen an honorable suicide: most had died well, without flinching. As for the farmers…

Kaoru buried her fingers in the horse's mane.

It had been quick and painless, this way. And their families would be safe. A traitor's family shared the same fate as the traitor: because she'd ordered their deaths here, because she'd taken that blood on her hands, their families would be spared.

Men from the village met them halfway, with stretchers for the wounded and strong arms to bear them to the inn. Lord Himura was taken to the headman's house, where whomever they had to serve as a doctor was waiting to tend to him. The mare finally allowed herself to be caught and taken off to a stable, and Shirojo took the girls down from their horse before he led that one off, too.

Kaoru and her sisters were left standing in the foreyard of the headman's home. Suzume was an exhausted lump in her arms; Ayame was barely on her feet. Kaoru bowed her head to her youngest sister and caught a glimpse of the blood staining her kimono. She needed a bath: she needed to burn these clothes. She needed to scrub the stench of death out of her hair…

"My lady." Tae was at her side, taking Suzume gently from her arms. Her voice was calm and gentle and Kaoru let her take Suzume without thinking. "Go with O-tsuki to the bathhouse. I'll see to the little ones. You should cleanse yourself."

"I – yes." Kaoru shook her head a little, unable to cut through the feel of cotton wool. Tae would take care of it. Tae always took care of things. "Of course."

O-tsuki was one of the junior maids. She was pale and shaken and hiding it as best she could as she led Kaoru gently down the hall. Kaoru could feel something wrong, something nagging at the back of her mind. She couldn't quite make sense of it, though: everything was coming through distorted, like she was traveling underwater. Her legs and her head ached from the walk and unshed tears.

She hadn't been able to watch the men die. She'd owed it to them, to look into their eyes as they died because she'd ordered it, but there was blood on her clothes and her sandals and the bodies strewn like cordwood, entrails lying in the dust and she hadn't had the strength to do more than turn her head and walk away.

The bath was large and hot and Kaoru let herself be undressed, scrubbed and herded into it, at least until the searing heat began to unknot her muscles and soothe her. Then she bolted upright.

"The girls!"

"My lady – " O-tsuki tried to protest.

But Kaoru was already out of the bath and sliding into the clean yukata that the headman's wife had provided, fuming at Tae for babying her and at herself for letting Tae do it. She bolted from the bathhouse, ignoring O-tsuki's cries, and went to find her sisters.

She passed by a few people in the hall – guards, maids, a woman who was probably the headman's wife by the quality of her clothing – all of whom looked a little shocked to see Lord Himura's wife tearing through the halls. She snatched a maid by the sleeve and demanded to know where her sisters were. The woman pointed and Kaoru took off again, skidding to a halt outside the indicated room. She threw the shoji back, heart pounding.

Ayame and Suzume were tucked safely away in a futon, curled around each other like new-budded ferns. Tae knelt by their side, singing softly. Kaoru sagged with relief.

"Is there something wrong, my lady?" Tae asked. Kaoru glared.

"I'm not a child anymore, you know," she said shortly, stepping into the room and closing the screen behind her. "I don't need to be coddled."

Tae only smiled. Kaoru knelt next to her sisters and smoothed a hand over their heads. Strands of Suzume's hair were sticking to her cheeks, plastered there by her tears. Kaoru brushed them away.

"They're my responsibility, now," she said quietly. "I have to take care of them."

"You're barely more than a child yourself, my lady," Tae said, voice laced with gentle humor.

"I'm a married woman."

"…so you are." Tae sighed. "The doctor is still with Lord Himura."

"Is there any news?"

"It could go either way." She met Kaoru's eyes and held them, speaking very carefully. "It would be dreadful to be widowed so soon, wouldn't it?"

Innocent words, in case the walls had ears; but her meaning was clear enough. Strong noon light slanted in through the screens, sheathing the air with a subtle gold.

"It's out of our hands now," she said. "All we can do is pray."

"That's so." Tae reached out and clasped Kaoru's hands. Kaoru felt the sharp slide of folded paper against her skin, the faint weight of the medicine packet as it dropped into her sleeve. No medicine here, she knew, and understood what Tae was suggesting to her. "We'll all pray, my lady."

"I should go see him," she said numbly. The packet seemed like a leaden weight: a choice, hers to make. She'd never get another opportunity like this.

Suzume sniffled in her sleep.

"The doctor may not allow it until tomorrow," Tae said, warning in her tone.

"He'll let me in." Kaoru stood, smiling grimly. "After all, I'm Lord Himura's wife."

* * *

Kaoru knelt at the head of her husband's futon, watching him sleep, and all she could think was that he looked far too young to be what he was. He was almost thirty, she knew that much, and when he was awake it was evident in the careful gravity with which he carried himself and the certainty in his movements. But now, fast asleep and shivering slightly with the weight of unconsciousness, he didn't look his age at all. He looked barely twenty: he looked like a man who'd aged too quickly.

He was so small. She hadn't really realized it until now, how very small he was. He loomed so large in her mind that she'd simply never noticed. But he was small, now, lying in bed with his sword curving gently over his head and blood seeping through his bandages. Small and fragile and harmless.

And if she didn't know – if she hadn't seen – she might have been touched by his vulnerability. But he _wasn't_ harmless. She wasn't sure that he was even human, now that she'd seen him fight. The shōgun's demon unleashed…

A dozen men cut down in two heartbeat's time and only their fallen bodies to mark Lord Himura's passage. She hadn't even _seen him move_, just the slaughter in his wake. No wonder the Western Army had been defeated. How could anything stand a chance against something like that? It must have been like trying to fight a storm, or the turning of the tide…

Lord Himura had fought at Sekigahara. So had Father. Father had _died_ there. He must have seen Lord Himura moving like a whirlwind across the battlefield, carving empty spaces out of men's flesh like a carpenter lathing away at excess wood. He must have known how hopeless it was.

Uncle had said that Father died defending their former liege.

Had he been ordered into the breach? Had he charged into that terrible vacuum of steel and dying men? Had he faced Lord Himura at all, or had his death come at someone else's hands? Would Lord Himura tell her, if she asked? Would he even know?

Probably not. He couldn't possibly have time to note the faces of the men he killed.

There was a bit of blood on his husband's hairline. They had changed his clothes and cleaned him but missed that one, tiny streak: she was grateful for that little red smear, because it told her that what she'd seen had been real and not some desperate night terror. She hadn't married a man after all.

He made a sound deep in his throat, as though he'd heard her thoughts and wanted to respond.

The doctor had taken the bullet out and cleansed the wound with sake and herbs. Lord Himura had been lucky, he'd told her solemnly. The bullet had gone in clean, and come out easily. Often they shattered on impact, making them impossible to remove fully, and the fragments of metal would work their way through the body and into the blood. Death could come without warning, days or even weeks after an apparent recovery. But that probably wouldn't be the case here, he'd hastened to reassure her. If Lord Himura survived the night, he would most likely be fine. He'd told her that and left her there to stand sentinel at his side, with a pot of tea to see her through her vigil.

If. _If_ he survived.

The medicine packet Tae had given her burned against her palm, hidden under the hands she kept crossed neatly on her lap as she sat at her husband's sickbed. All she had to do was feed him what was inside – mix it with the tea, hold his head up and help him swallow it down – and it would all be over, with nothing that could point to her or her family as the culprits. All the bandits were dead, still formally unidentified. It would only be a terrible and unexpected tragedy, and yes, the shōgun would assign another lord to Hito province and she would probably have to marry that one, too – if not her, then a cousin, or perhaps one of her sisters would be engaged to the new lord's son – but _anyone_ was better than a monster.

She had agreed to return to Edo with him.

Partly because she couldn't afford not to. This marriage had to succeed: any sign that it wasn't, that he was less than pleased with her or that he was considering setting her aside would jeopardize her family's frail hold on the few scraps of power and prestige that it had left. She _had_ to please him, somehow; if it would please him to see her smile, then she would have to learn to fake it. If it would please him to believe she loved him, then she would have to…

But it hadn't only been duty.

The way he looked at her… like a man stepping out of a long darkness and blinking in the sunlight, dazed and starving. Like someone who had everything they'd ever wanted spread out before them and yet couldn't touch any of it, could only watch as it slipped through their fingers. She believed what she'd told Misao: even now, in her heart of hearts, she believed it. He would never hurt her. He couldn't possibly look at her that way and still be able to hurt her.

He owed her nothing, not even the smallest scrap of dignity, but the only thing he'd asked of her was that she attend him at some of his meals. He'd sought out Master Oguni – who _never_ would have come if he'd believed that Lord Himura was an evil man, not _ever_ – and let her continue her sword training. So she'd taken a chance: brought him tea and swallowed her bitterness and tried to speak to him as though he were only a man. Because he hadn't acted as her enemy, not even on their wedding night, and she felt – that she owed him a chance, at least, to prove himself. To prove that the stories weren't true.

And then, today, he'd proven that they were.

_Don't stray from this spot,_ he'd told her in a voice like ice, and his eyes had blazed pale and cold as winter, lit with some inner fire.

He'd slaughtered them…

Kaoru closed her eyes.

She'd come so close. Been so very nearly fooled. But she knew, now, what he was: the shōgun's demon, and if there was a man in there then he was only an echo. Lord Himura was her enemy. Her _enemy_. She'd ordered the deaths of men who looked to her family for guidance and protection and it was _because of him_, because _he_ had ensured Lord Tokugawa's victory, because _he_ had taken over their province and left them no other choice. So he was kind to her – so what? How could that ever, _ever_ make up for the rest of it? For her father's death and his broken promise, for the loss of her family and her home, for the dishonor of being on the losing side. No amount of kindness could ever give any of that back to her.

That he would even try…

He stirred again, making another one of those strange, protesting noises. Her hand clenched around the medicine packet as his eyes slowly opened.

"…honored wife," he rasped out, and there was something very like awe in his eyes. She had a sudden urge to scratch them out for daring to look at her that way – as though he had any right to long for her.

"My lord," she said evenly.

"You're here." He was staring at her, stunned, and she wanted to slap him and shake him and _scream_ at him until he understood that she would never, ever, _ever – _

He seemed to be expecting a response. Kaoru swallowed, feeling the lines of the folded paper against her skin. One dose. _Just feed him what's in the packet, and everything will end…_

"Well," she said finally. "I'm your wife, aren't I?"

Lord Himura smiled at her, eyes sparkling, and tried to sit up. He winced and grabbed at his shoulder.

"Don't," she said. "The doctor said you shouldn't strain yourself."

She turned to the tea tray, shielding it carefully from view as she poured a cup and tore the packet open, letting the deadly powder slide into the lukewarm tea. She stirred it a few times with her finger, waiting for it to dissolve.

"How are your sisters?" he asked softly, and she nearly spilled the cup.

"…they are… sleeping. My lord."

"Are they…?" He paused, then, and she could imagine the look on his face: brow drawn, hesitant, speaking with the care of a man whose life depends on his next few words. The way he'd looked whenever they'd spoken these past few days, as a fragile truce had built between them.

"Were they badly frightened?" he said, after a long pause, and there was desperate worry in his voice.

"…they are samurai, honored husband," she whispered, shame spearing briefly through her that he would dare to ask.

"Ah." He sounded a little sad. "That's so, it is… then, one should ask – were they brave?"

Her hand spasmed, splashing tea across the lacquered tray. A few drops fell onto the tatami and she clenched her fist near her heart, remembering despite herself.

She had been young, barely ten years old, and so sure of herself. Her parents had told her not to go past the marked paths in the forest, so of course she had, and startled a she-bear waking from hibernation. She never could remember how she'd managed to escape: just her panicked heart pounding in her chest and the long, breathless minutes as she ran and ran _away_ as fast as her legs could carry her, the bear roaring outrage as it crashed through the underbrush in pursuit.

Her father had found her hiding in one of spare rooms, weeping. It wasn't only that she'd been yelled at and sent to bed without supper, she'd gasped out, choked with shame. It was that she'd been _afraid_.

He'd knelt beside her and folded her into his arms, rocking her gently.

"Only a fool is never afraid," he'd told her quietly, stroking her hair. "The question to ask is not whether you were afraid, but whether you were brave despite it. Were you brave, little Kaoru?"

"I don't know," she'd wailed between sobs. "I ran away!"

"Did you?" His eyes had been warm – they were always warm – and the corners had crinkled in a hidden smiled. "From the bear, certainly, and that was very wise. But you didn't lie about what had happened, or try to hide. That is brave, too, little Kaoru: to accept the consequences of our mistakes. There are many ways to be brave."

The sun had poured through the room and lit them both, gleaming off the polished wooden pillars. It was always so bright in her memories: even in the rainy days, the sun was always shining. It was bright today, too bright for so early in the summer. The rains would come as a relief.

She let out a deep, shuddering breath, and her fingers clenched around the poisoned tea.

"Yes, honored husband." And if there was a quavering note in her voice, the bare hint of vulnerability, then what did it matter? It would all be over soon. "They were very brave."

"Ah."

_Turn_, she urged herself. _Turn and hand him the tea_. He would take it. He trusted her. He would take it and drink, and sleep, and never wake again. Bullet wounds were dangerous; they could kill a hundred different ways. No one would suspect, and even if someone did there would be no proof. No proof at all.

It would be so easy.

"It seems," he started to say. His voice cracked a little, and he cleared his throat. "One must beg your forgiveness, lady wife."

She couldn't see his eyes but she knew what they would look like. Hungry and pleading.

"…my forgiveness?"

"One knew there were bandits in the area." She thought she heard him swallow. "There should have been – one could have done more, surely, to prevent what occurred. That you and your sisters should be endangered in such a way…"

She exhaled sharply, hysteria trying to climb its way out of her throat. The poison tea trembled in her shaking hands.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"…one will never allow such a thing again," he said, quiet and intense and she turned, slowly, his stare heavy on her skin, to meet the eyes that she knew were boring into her. His gaze was hot and fierce, the same flame that had been in his in the garden and the training hall, and just as before she couldn't tell if it would destroy her or keep her warm forever. "Never again, honored wife. Never if there is anything one can do to prevent it."

He was pale with his wound and the exertion of talking. The smear of blood on his hairline stood out in stark relief.

_Don't stray from this spot_, he'd said. And now he was looking at her as if all he wanted in the world was to keep her safe…

Without thinking, she reached out her hand to wipe the blood away. He froze under her fingers, hands clenching in the blanket as she swiped it carefully from his skin. He was shaking a little; his breath came short and sharp.

His skin was warm. Not feverish, as she'd half-expected. Just _warm_, like a sunny place on a porch or a stone in a field on a bright day. He leaned towards her as she drew her hand away, sighing after her touch.

"This tea is cold," she said abruptly, and stood. "I'll bring a fresh pot. You should rest, honored husband."

She fled the room before he could respond and threw the poison away, cursing herself for a fool.

* * *

Kaoru closed the screen behind her, bowing her head. Tae looked up from her sewing, perfectly serene. Ayame and Suzume were still asleep.

"How is your lord husband, my lady?" she asked innocently, only a maid showing proper concern for her lord and master. Kaoru knelt at her sisters' side and tucked the blanket around them.

"His tea was cold," she said, numb and uncertain. "I – I brought him a fresh pot."

"I'm sure he appreciated it." Tae frowned, and Kaoru could guess what she was thinking: that Kaoru wasn't acting like a woman finally freed. "Do you think you should have done more?"

"No." Kaoru looked up, then, and finally met Tae's eyes. "I'm sure I've done enough."

"My lady…?" Tae searched her face, lips pursuing, looking for something that she wasn't going to find.

"Excuse me," someone called from beyond the screen. "My lady, will you permit your lowly guard to enter? There is news that you should hear."

Shirojo's voice: his silhouette, too, lean and alert through the rice paper.

"Come in," Kaoru called. He slid open the screen and nodded to Tae, one professional to another. She raised an eyebrow back at him, lips twisting into a wry smile.

"We can talk freely." Shirojo settled himself on the other side of the girls' futon, the third point in their triangle, and let his samurai mask slip. "No one's listening."

Tae looked at him for a long moment and finally nodded, mouth set in a firm, thin line.

"Then, my lady," she asked Kaoru. "Did you…?"

"I did not," Kaoru said, and smoothed down Ayame's hair. She always woke up with the most ridiculous cowlick.

"Why?" Tae set her sewing aside. "Was the doctor interfering? I can make sure he's out of the room."

"No. I'm not – _we're_ not going to do that. Any of us."

Shirojo glance quickly between them, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. "Seems I've missed something?"

"As has our lady, apparently," Tae snapped, sounding as angry as she ever got. Kaoru bit back a retort and laced her fingers in her lap, instead. "Perhaps the best chance we'll ever have – "

"We will _not_," Kaoru said again, trying to add the whipcrack of authority she'd heard in her mother's time and again, "take such an action, Tae."

"And why not?" Tae met her eyes and Kaoru saw no anger there: challenge, yes, but not rage. "Will you accept the Tokugawa's rule, then, as your uncle has?"

_The sooner you accept your karma, the sooner you will know peace._

Kaoru stiffened, heart pounding in her throat. Tae watched her carefully, as though measuring her worth.

"No." Kaoru swallowed, hard. "But neither will I poison a man on his sickbed for vengeance's sake."

"Is he a man, then?" Tae kept watching her. "Are you so certain?"

"…no," Kaoru whispered. "But – he hasn't hurt me. Or any of us. He hasn't done anything wrong, except…"

"Except be the ally of your enemy," Tae said softly. Kaoru bowed her head, tongue thick with feelings she had no words for.

"Well, then," Tae said, turning to Shirojo. "What do you think?"

He blanched, holding up both hands. "I don't have an opinion," he said quickly. "I'm just here to protect Lady Kaoru and give her whatever help she asks for."

Tae made a dismissive noise, not quite a snort but not really a laugh, either.

"At least you know your place," she said, amusement lacing her voice. Shirojo shrugged.

"I leave the plotting to m'lord Aoshi." He grinned, and there was something inexpressibly cheerful about it: it made Kaoru want to smile back. "All that political stuff goes right over my head. But, uh, I do know that m'lord really don't think assassination is the way to go, here."

"And why is that?" Tae picked up her sewing again. She was making a new yukata, probably for Suzume: she was about due for another growth spurt.

Shirojo shrugged. "Well, it's not like it'll change anything. Shōgun'll just send a new guy along."

"A better-known lord," Tae pointed out, snipping off a loose thread. "Someone who didn't appear out of the blue fifteen years ago. Someone we can control."

"Yeah, but there's really no guarantee of that, you know…"

"It doesn't matter," Kaoru interrupted. They turned to look at her and she raised her chin, biting hard on her lower lip as uncertainty filled her head with roaring wind and her lungs with fear. "We're not going to assassinate him, even if we're given another opportunity like this. He – "

She took a breath, blood throbbing hot and heavy in her veins. Blood in the dust, blood on Lord Himura's clothing, blood soaking into her sandals. _Don't stray from this spot_ – and a spray of blood drenching him as he stood in front of the palanquin, guarding her. Guarding her sisters.

"He's the ally of our enemy. That doesn't mean he's our enemy – _my_ enemy. He's – I saw, just like you did, what he's capable of. But he's never – if he's done anything to actually _hurt_ Hito province, to hurt the Kamiya since he became our lord, tell me. Because I don't know of anything."

"My lady…" Tae started to say. Kaoru held up her hand, closing her eyes as the pounding in her veins reached her temples.

"Don't," she said. "Don't start. I – I _want_ him to be a monster!" she cried, barely keeping her voice down. "I _wish_ he wasn't – I _hate_ that he's so kind, but – but he _is_, Tae. He hasn't done a single solitary thing that's really evil, except – except be a loyal vassal to his liege. And the Tokugawa _won_. Maybe they wouldn't have if he hadn't been there, but he was and they _did_. The war is over. We lost."

"We did," Tae said softly. "I don't dispute that, my lady."

"And – I don't know – what good would it do?" Kaoru finished weakly. "If Hito gains a reputation for being difficult…"

"You sound very much like your uncle," Tae said mildly, and Kaoru nearly slapped her.

"Uh…" Shirojo raised his hand. "Um. Well. M'lord Kamiya… isn't exactly wrong, you know. Fighting to the bitter end makes for a good story, but it's bad politics. I know that m'lady loves her father…"

"Don't you _ever_," Kaoru said, ice shooting through her veins, "talk about my father."

"Sorry." He ducked his head. "Sorry. But – my point is, Miss Tae – Lady Kaoru – it might be best to lay low and play nice until things settle down. D'you understand? M'lord Aoshi's not intending to do a thing other than keep you safe 'til all the reports are in, I know that much."

"But a transition like this is the best time," Tae argued. "If we wait too long, the Tokugawa will only solidify their hold – "

"Enough!" Kaoru rubbed at her temples, mouth dry. "We're not going to kill him, and that's final. Not – not until – " She exhaled, worrying at her lower lip, and the words came so easily once she'd decided to say them. "Not until I know if he really is my enemy. If he really – deserves to die. Until then – when I know, that's when I'll choose. Not before. Because I don't know, right now."

She looked up at Tae, begging her to understand.

"I don't _know_. And I can't – act – until I _know_."

_Even if it means I'm weak_, she wanted to say. Even if it was disgracing her father's memory: even if it meant that she was becoming her uncle, who had forgotten all honor and duty to beg the Tokugawa for scraps.

Her father's voice, echoing across the years: _there are many ways to be brave. _

"Those are my orders," she said at last, the words echoing in her heart with a terrible finality. "Do you understand?"

"Yes'm," Shirojo said immediately. Tae hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"I understand," she said, very deliberately. "My lady."

"That's settled, then." Kaoru ignored the reproach in Tae's eyes. "Shirojo, was there something you wanted to tell me or was that just an excuse to come into the room?"

"Oh, right." He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. "Uh – you're not gonna like this."

"What else is new?" she said wryly. "Tell me."

"Your cousin – your uncle's kid – is here."

Kaoru blinked. For a moment, the world pitched sideways.

"…_what!?_"

Shirojo ducked, waving his hands in a conciliatory manner. "I don't know how he did it! But he's passing himself off as an apprentice groom, and – uh, actually, he's doing a pretty damn good job, so far…"

"I'm gonna _kill_ him," Kaoru ground out, fury shaking her limbs. She stood. "I'm going to hogtie him and drown him in the pond and let Ginko _eat_ him! I can't _believe_ – "

"Hey, hey, calm down." Shirojo scrambled to his feet. "Hold on. Think it through."

She loomed over him and he blanched. "I'm just saying. Your uncle's pretty hell-bent on the kid becoming Lord Himura's new page, right? This gets the kid to Edo, at least, and that he's willing to go this far… Lord Himura's gonna _have_ to accept him as a page, right? If I understand the situation correctly," he added quickly. "It'd be too much of a snub, otherwise. And you want to know Lord Himura's character, don't you? So…"

"I _will not_," she said, rage in her voice like a snake's rattle, "sacrifice Yahiko for my own ends. And if you _ever_ suggest – "

"Your uncle's gonna use the kid to suck up to the Tokugawa one way or another," Shirojo said bluntly. "If he can't get him into Lord Himura's household, he'll put him somewhere else. Where do you want your cousin – someplace you can keep an eye on him, or with a total stranger?"

Kaoru froze. Shirojo eyed her warily. She withdrew, slowly, gripping her hands tightly over her breastbone.

_Yahiko…_

If her uncle was willing to tie him to monster, who else might he be willing to give him to? She knew the stories as well as anyone: the things no one spoke of openly, of men who took the ancient traditions of love and loyalty between master and apprentice and perverted it, made it something ugly and degrading. It wasn't supposed to happen that way – it was supposed to happen only if the apprentice was of the proper age, and only with his consent – but there were always evil men, and if a man was powerful and careful, who could stop him?

If Yahiko was sent somewhere beyond her reach…

"…he's your responsibility," she forced out through numb lips. "If _any_ harm comes to him, even once, I swear I will make you _suffer_. Do you understand?"

She caught Shirojo's gaze and held it. He blanched, nodding, and his throat worked as he swallowed.

"I understand, my lady. I'll guard him like he was my own brother."

"You had _better_," she said fiercely. Then she sighed.

"You should rest, my lady," Tae said without meeting her eyes, stitching away at the yukata.

Kaoru was suddenly exhausted: the weight of the day, of all she'd said and done and decided was crashing down on her, dragging at her like sodden clothes. It was barely past midday, but all she wanted to do was curl up in bed and pretend that nothing had changed.

"I will," she said quietly. "After I bring my husband his tea."

* * *

Lord Himura was asleep again by the time she returned. She watched him for a while: the slow rise and fall of his chest, the small twitches of his dreams. Again, she was struck by how small he seemed, how powerless he looked unless you knew. Unless you'd _seen_.

"…who _are_ you?" she whispered.

He had no answer for her, and when she searched her heart for one all she could see was his hungry, pleading gaze.


	5. who hesitates towards you

**A/n: Historical notes!**

**Wakashudo: Medieval male samurai culture was - there is no other way to say this - _gay as hell_. And, as in ancient Greece, one form that this male-male involvement could take was a sexualized mentoring relationship between a young boy and an older man. There are a lot of rules and whatnot that didn't get formalized until after the period this story is set in, but the custom did exist. As with all such customs, in _theory_ it was a mutually beneficial relationship entered by the consent of each party. In theory. In practice, things were probably quite a bit different. But anyway, that's what Kaoru's freaking out over in the last chapter; it was a common enough custom that she's not overreacting by fearing that her cousin will be taken advantage of.**

**Noh: This chapter includes excerpts from the Noh play "Sotoba Komachi," or "Komachi and the Hundred Nights." I have borrowed liberally from several translations, most notably Arthur Waley's, and the proceeded to rewrite and edit half of it for flow and to eliminate some really clunky exposition of cultural references. The thrust of the passages quoted remain intact, however; I swear by my pretty floral bonnet.**

**Noh is one of the oldest forms of theatre in Japan. It is a highly stylized performance done through song and dance, and with male actors in all the lead roles. Kabuki did _not _yet exist in the time period which this story is set, and actually was initially a female art form, arising partially in response to the fact that women could not be Noh actors. Noh is traditionally performed outdoors, and performances take the entire day and consist of multiple plays, with breaks in between for food.**

**Lady Aoi and Lady Rokujo:**** There's a reference in this chapter to a story from _The Tale of Genji_. Lady Rokujo had been Prince Genji's lover; however, he set her aside to marry Lady Aoi. Driven into a jealous rage, her spirit left her body and began attacking Lady Aoi, making her ill and eventually causing her death. Ironically, by the time this happened, Genji had kinda lost interest in Lady Aoi and only became interested in her again because she was dying tragically. Genji is kind of a dick. **

**The story can be read as a subtle criticism of the polygymous Heian marriage system and the way it kept women as rivals to one another, but that's another thing entirely.  
**

**On with the show!  
**

* * *

"…which I believe concludes our business for the day, Eminence." Lord Hondo bowed deeply towards the shōgun, who frowned.

"Does it?" Kenshin noted a certain canny gleam in his eye, the one that usually meant someone was being given just enough rope to hang themselves with. "There are no other matters which this council must address?"

"No, Eminence." Lord Hondo gave no sign that he'd seen the trap about to spring. Although he must have; he'd served Lord Tokugawa for longer than Kenshin had. Certainly long enough to learn his master's moods.

"How peculiar." Lord Tokugawa flicked his fan out, pointing it at his advisor and looking as though ice wouldn't have melted in his mouth. "For I don't recall our having addressed the matter of Sir Narita's murder."

Kenshin blinked, choking back an exclamation. Sir Narita was the head of a minor clan with a very long history with the Tokugawa. They had been hereditary vassals since the Muromachi shōgunate, and while they had never risen to particularly high rank they had served as examples of true loyalty for as long as they had served the shōgun's family. For him to have been murdered was a direct strike at the Tokugawa and obligated them to uncover and punish the culprit.

And he'd had no idea it had happened. Admittedly, he'd only been back in Edo for a day, but you'd think someone would have told him. He'd met Sir Narita once or twice: an upright man, very stern, but possessing a fearless honor that one rarely saw in these days.

"Unless, of course, you were unaware it had occurred?" Lord Tokugawa raised a single challenging eyebrow, bringing his fan back in and touching it lightly to his chin. "Very unusual, that."

"I – yes, Eminence." Lord Hondo lowered his eyes. "Your pardon, please – but the matter is still under investigation, and it did not seem prudent to bring it to your attention at this time – "

That was a misstep. Kenshin couldn't quite suppress a sympathetic wince as Lord Tokugawa moved into for the kill.

"What was imprudent, my Lord Hondo," the shōgun said coolly, "was your assumption that I, Sir Narita's liege, would not know of the event as soon as it occurred. His family may be a minor one, but they have shed their blood in my clan's name for countless generations; do you mean to suggest that I would not return such loyalty?"

"Of course not!" Lord Hondo bowed carefully. "It is only that I hesitated to bring the news to you without first exercising proper diligence, given the manner in which the crime was committed. If the wrong conclusions were to be drawn – well, it could be disastrous!"

Lord Tokugawa's face darkened. Kenshin furrowed his brow a little, confused; there was a sudden edge to the shōgun's anger that felt almost like – surprise?

"Explain," he rumbled ominously. Lord Hondo bowed again.

"Whoever committed the crime did so without being noticed by either the guards or Sir Narita's family," he said, and there was a strange note of triumph in his voice. "The guards, of course, all committed suicide after giving their testimony, out of shame for their failure. However, an examination of the body by my personal physician indicates that Sir Narita was _not_ surprised by his attacker. There is no evidence that he fought them, nor did he struggle as he died. My physician concluded that he was killed instantly, with a single stroke, and that he most likely never saw the blow or his murderer. It would have required inhuman speed and exceptional prowess to accomplish."

Kenshin's blood froze as he realized the implications. How many times had the Hiten Mitsurugi style been described as one that relied on speed – _inhuman_ speed? That was the source of the stories about him, after all, that he could move quickly enough to slay so many in such a short time.

If there was another swordsman out there, one who could match him in speed… damn it, he would have _known_ about it. They always came looking to challenge him sooner or later. And it couldn't be another practitioner of the Hiten Mitsurugi style…

"Lord _Himura_," the shōgun snapped. "I understand that you've a young bride at home, but if you could do us the courtesy of _paying attention?_"

"Oro?" He shook his head slightly. "Your pardon, Eminence, one was only – the matter of Sir Narita's death…"

"Yes?" Lord Tokugawa inclined his head, indicating that Kenshin had his full attention.

"One must admit to being at a loss," he said simply. "There have been no challenges recently, nor word of any swordsman with inhuman speed. And there are no other practitioners of the Hiten Mitsurugi, save myself. Lord Hondo, are you certain of the circumstances?"

"I am," Lord Hondo said, sounding distinctly smug. "His death came by a sword wielded with inhuman speed."

Kenshin shook his head, wracking his brain for anything he might have missed, any rumor that he might have heard and dismissed, distracted by other affairs. "This is troubling, it is. If a swordsman of such ability has chosen to announce himself for the first time in such a manner… it bodes ill."

"Indeed." The shōgun pursed his lips briefly, then flicked his fan towards Kenshin. "And I can think of no better man to investigate it than yourself."

"Eminence?" He hadn't expected that. Lord Tokugawa had asked him to remain in Edo and serve on his council for the year, yes, but he'd thought it was for security purposes – simply to have him nearby should any trouble arise during the transition. Not to actually meddle in the business of government. It was hardly his forte, after all.

"This murder is a direct insult to my clan," Lord Tokugawa continued, ignoring Kenshin's shock. "It cannot go unaddressed. The murderer must be found and punished for his crime. Therefore, I will be taking personal interest in this case."

"Eminence," Lord Hondo murmured. "Lord Himura has only recently joined this council. Perhaps he would benefit from the assistance of a more experienced colleague…"

"I have every faith in Lord Himura," the shōgun said shortly. "Furthermore, the one thing we do know about the murder is that he is a warrior of exceptional skill. Lord Himura is the only member of this council with sufficient insight into the mind of the swordsman of that caliber. He will see what we cannot – unless any of you claim to match him with a blade?"

He glowered out at his council. Kenshin opened his mouth to object, then closed it again. _Something_ was going on – hostility was crackling through the room, snapping between the councilors and Lord Tokugawa like lightning. There was the crack of a whip in the shōgun's voice; he was openly exerting his authority, reminding the councilors of who their master was. Kenshin had only ever seen him this way a handful a times: once when he had announced that he had traded his home provinces for rulership of the Kanto, accepting uncertainty and the barely-tamed Hojo clan in exchange for greater wealth and future power; again when he'd declared war on Lord Uesugi; and a few other scattered moments in the war, when things had been bleakest.

The councilors murmured, quietly disclaiming any such boast. It was well known that Lord Himura was the greatest swordsman alive, perhaps ever. None would dare to claim to be his equal. The shōgun surveyed them again, eyes fierce, before nodding once and flicking open his fan.

"Then it is settled," he said. "Lord Hondo, you will provide Lord Himura with all that you have uncovered so far concerning this matter. He speaks with my voice in this; give him your full co-operation."

"Yes, Eminence," Lord Hondo said, bowing for a third time. "It is an honor to serve."

"And now our business truly is concluded," Lord Tokugawa declared, snapping his fan shut. "Lord Himura, you will inform me of developments in this matter as they arise; if no progress is made, then we will speak again a week from now."

"As you wish, Eminence," Kenshin said, and bowed.

* * *

Kenshin caught up with Lord Hondo as they left the council chamber and inquired as to when he could expect the results of Lord Hondo's investigation.

"Within in a day," the older man smiled. There was a thin quality to it, deceptive; Kenshin looked hard for a moment, but couldn't sense any malice. "Forgive the delay, Lord Himura, but it will take some time to gather everyone involved in one place."

"That's alright," he said. Lord Tokugawa's disapproval could rattle even the most stalwart soul, so he could hardly blame Lord Hondo for being a bit on edge. "One looks forward to working with you to resolve the matter, that I do," he said, bowing shallowly, equal-to-equal.

"As do I, Lord Himura." Lord Hondo returned the bow, keeping up his narrow smile.

He excused himself and Kenshin started to make his way home. His guards trailed behind him, and he contemplated – not for the first time – the absurdity of someone like him having a guard detail. Protocol and his status demanded it, but the fact remained that _he_ was more likely to end up guarding _them_ in a crisis.

It was another bright, pleasant day. The occasional cloud puffed its way lazily across the brilliant blue sky, following the wind. Servants and retainers hurried past on various errands, bowing quickly as they passed by him under the trees lining the path from the castle keep to the broad avenue where the shōgun's highest-ranking retainers lived. Where he lived.

His paced picked up a little as they passed through the final gate. It had been a long time since he'd looked forward to going home; a long time since home had been more than just a place to sleep and eat. Now it was where the Lady Kaoru lived, too, and her sisters.

Kenshin brushed his forehead absently, remembering.

Her touch had echoed in him like a ringing gong, rich and deep and almost painful. Something had happened that day, after the attack. The truce between them was still fragile, delicate as a blood-feather and just as dangerous if broken, but he could feel it growing stronger. While she didn't treat him as a friend – he didn't dare hope for that, anyway – she spoke to him openly about her life, and they talked to each other about their day. That was more than he'd ever thought to have.

He was yanked from his reverie by the crowd just outside his manor. Men in his livery were scuffling with a man dressed as a traveling martial artist. A remarkably tall man, he noticed as he got closer, with a mane of hair that stood up at spiky angles…

"…_Sano?_" he called out, bewildered. Sano had been heading for China the last time they'd met; he hadn't expected to see him again for another few years.

"Oi! Kenshin!" Sano looked up from knocking two of Kenshin's retainer's heads together. A few more were hanging off his arms and back, trying to get him on the ground. "Wouldja call 'em off, already?"

"It's alright!" Kenshin hurried over to the scrum. "Sano is a friend, so he is – " He stopped to help one of his men up before moving into the center of the fray.

"See, I friggin' _told_ ya – " Sano was talking at the same time, addressing someone Kenshin dimly recognized as one of the shift captains. He looked warily at Sano, then bowed to Kenshin.

"Forgive me, my lord," he said. "But is this man truly…?"

"Yes, yes," Kenshin waved his hands reassuringly. "An unexpected visit, it is, or one would have told the guards to expect him. Please let him go."

The men eyed each other and then reluctantly let go of Sano, who dusted himself off, growled one last time at his attackers, and then swept Kenshin up in a bear hug.

"Good t'see ya, Kenshin," he said. "How ya been?"

"Sano – do you mind?" His feet were dangling a few inches above the ground.

"Oh, sorry." Sano set him back down and Kenshin pulled his clothes straight again, all too aware of his retainers' startled stares. "Guess you're important now, huh? Probably shouldn't be doin' that."

"So it would seem…" Kenshin murmured. "Weren't you in China?"

"Yeah, well, I got a little sidetracked and what with one thing and another I had to catch the first ship outta Shanghai. Which was headed here, and since I was in the neighborhood and all…"

"Ah." He finished getting his clothes in some kind of order, grinning helplessly. A man of his standing shouldn't show this much emotion in public, but – dammit, he'd missed Sano. "It's good to see you again, at any rate. How long are you staying?"

"Dunno yet." There was a canny gleam in Sano's eyes. "What's this I hear about you getting married again?"

"Oh. Yes. Well – ah, one did not precisely have a choice in the matter…" Kenshin ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. "The lady is the daughter of the late Lord Kamiya, whose province one has been given dominion over."

"…I _see_." Sano exhaled hard and ran a hand through his hair. "Goddammit, Kenshin, y'gotta stop lettin' him do this shit t'you."

"One could hardly refuse – "

Sano snorted. "Don't gimme that bullshit," he said, crossing his arms. "Y'damn well could've, and you know it. You're too fuckin' nice, you know that? I mean, you're a great guy an' all, but you gotta stand up for yourself."

"Sano." Kenshin's voice was harsher than he'd intended it, but his men's eyes were heavy on him. It was a public street, and although Sano hadn't named names he would start soon; it didn't do to criticize the shōgun in his own castle. "Not here, please. Come inside and we can have this argument again as many times as you like, although you should know by now that it won't change anything."

"Yeah, yeah." Sano waved his hand dismissively. "She pretty, at least?"

"_Sano!_"

Sano chuckled as he followed Kenshin inside, whistling as they crossed the threshold and he got a good look at the place.

"Fancy digs."

"There's a castle, too," Kenshin said, not without irony, and waved one of the maids over. "Although one can't understand why _anyone_ would need so much space… excuse me," he said to the girl. She was one of the younger maids, and shook slightly under his gaze. "Where is the Lady Kaoru?"

"S-she's gone out, my lord." The maid folded her hands and bowed. "The Lady Kame called upon her while my lord was in council and invited her to the theatre."

"Ah – Lord Tokugawa's daughter?" The maid nodded. "Well, that's fine, then," he said, somewhat at a loss. "And her sisters?"

"Having their lessons, my lord." She glanced shyly up at Sano, then looked away. Sano had a strange look on his face, something between amusement and exasperation.

"Maids an' _everything_," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "Man, you really did get all puffed up while I was away."

"One hardly intended to," Kenshin protested weakly, feeling rather judged. Sano had always made his feelings on the upper class very clear; he'd thought that Kenshin's humble origins and Lord Tokugawa's deception were a fine joke when he'd first learned of it. Now that it was steadily becoming more serious, well… he had no idea what Sano would think.

"Sure y'didn't," Sano agreed in a cheerful tone, slinging his arm over Kenshin's shoulders. "Hey, missy," he said to the maid. "Bring us some sake, okay? This idiot and I have some catching up to do."

"Um – y-yes, sir," she said, bowing again, and hurried away.

They settled in one of the lesser room off of the courtyard, overlooking a small rock garden. The outer doors of the house were thrown open to let in the fresh summer air, and Kenshin could dimly hear the little ones' voices from the other side of the house, high-pitched and sing-songy with recitation. Sano, uncharacteristically tactful, waited for the sake to arrive before he propped his chin in his elbows and his elbows on his crossed legs and stared at Kenshin.

"So. Is it the same as last time?" He didn't need to say what he was referring to: there was only one _last time_ that could be relevant.

"…in some ways," Kenshin said, pouring Sano a cup.

"You think this one's tryin't'kill you, too?" Sano raised an eyebrow, daring Kenshin to contradict him.

Kenshin closed his eyes for a moment as the old wound contracted in his chest. He wouldn't blame her if she was: if not for him, there was every chance that Lord Tokugawa would have lost, that her family would still rule their province. If he hadn't pledged his sword, all the years and rivers of blood ago…

She'd hated and feared him, at first. Now she no longer feared him, but – there was still anger in her and probably would be for the rest of her life. Anger at the shōgun; anger at him, because the shōgun was too remote a target. Even if she did come to accept her situation, she would never find joy in sharing her life with him.

"No," he said quietly.

Sano made a contemplative noise in the back of his throat. "You in love with her yet?"

Kenshin stopped pouring and set the flask carefully down, hands shaking a little. She'd reached out with her pure, clean skin and swiped the blood from his, and he'd yearned towards her like some low crawling thing sighing for the sun. Her touch had been gentle, easy. Fearless.

He swallowed and looked up at Sano – his first, oldest, _only_ friend. Sano gave him a very old look and got to his feet.

"Right," he said, clapping his hands together in an _away-with-this_ sort of movement. "Change of plans. We're going out tonight."

"Ah, Sano," he objected, suddenly very worried, "Remember last time? One is far too recognizable…"

"No worries, I've got a fix for that."

"Do you?" Now he was more than worried. "And what exactly is that plan, may one ask?"

Sano just grinned. "You'll _love_ it."

* * *

"From discord," the old woman chanted, sweeping her arm out in a slow arc, "salvation may yet spring."

"For what is called evil – " the priest's attendant responded, spreading his hands outwards in a gesture of recognition and welcome.

"Is also good," she finished, crossing her hands over her walking-stick and bowing her head. She was hunched, her movements slow with age and jerking with madness but laced with exquisite dignity nonetheless.

"And passionate attachments to the world – " the priest countered, joining his attendant in acknowledging her wisdom

"Are also our deliverance." She tilted her head. The actor's mask shifted in the light, changing for a moment from contemplation to deep grief; then the moment passed.

"For salvation cannot be planted like a tree," the actors sang together, stilling into their final positions, "and the heart's mirror hangs in a void."

"Nothing is real!" the chorus sang out. "Man and Buddha are no different.  
By his sacred word  
he has vowed to save  
both the ignorant and the sage.  
Even a sinful act may lead to salvation."

Kaoru blinked back tears as the music pierced through her, resonating in the center of her being. Lady Kame was as enraptured as she was, staring at the stage with shining eyes. Her visit and invitation had come as a surprise: although Kaoru was the wife of one of Lord Tokugawa's most trusted retainers, she had hardly expected one of the shōgun's daughters to try and strike up an acquaintance.

Onstage, the old woman had revealed herself as Ono no Komachi, once the greatest poet of her age, now an ancient, half-mad wreck, possessed by the spirit of a lover she had scorned. The lover's spirit had taken over her body and was singing his story: how he had adored her, and how she had challenged him to come a hundred nights and leave his mark on her door. If he did this, Komachi had claimed, laughing, then she would accept him.

"I never saw her," the actor keened, the spirit's masculine tone contrasting eerily with the female mask, "yet still I came! Faithful as a cock announcing the dawn each day, I carved my mark outside her door. I was to come a hundred times; I lacked but one more ride…"

The actor cried out and collapsed, enacting the lover's death from the cold. The drums beat relentlessly as the flute's voice soared to the heaven.

Then, when the music was at its fullest, it stopped.

Silence.

The priest and his attendant stared at the broken figure heaped at their feet.

The chorus began again, slowly, and the old woman – the ruins of Komachi, the great beauty – climbed slowly to her feet.

"…was it my lover's spirit that possessed me?" she sang, wonderingly. "Was it his anger that shattered my wits?  
Then let me pray for salvation!  
I will pile stones in prayer;  
I will offer up to Buddha  
the very flowers of my heart  
that I might be redeemed.  
Let me walk the righteous path!  
Let me walk the path of truth!"

The play ended in a wild flurry of drumbeats. The actors receded from the stage one at a time, accompanied by the audience's ritual applause. Lady Kame sighed deeply.

"Ah! Wasn't that exquisite, Lady Kaoru? It was such a privilege to experience!"

"It was," Kaoru said. "I'm honored beyond words that you shared it with me. Thank you." She meant it, too. Whatever agendas might be at play – and Kaoru was certain that there were some – she had been given an extraordinary gift. She took a deep breath, hollow with beauty and a heavy, sweet melancholy that seemed to sink into her very bones.

Lady Kame wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, smiling.

"Oh, I can't wait for the next play," she said happily. "It's another story of Komachi, you know: her last days at Sekidera."

"Really?" Kaoru smoothed her fan nervously. "I've heard of it: isn't it the greatest of all plays?"

"It is. Won't it be lovely to see it performed? It's done so rarely…" She gestured to one of her ladies-in-waiting. The woman hurried from where she had been sitting quietly against the cloth walls erected around the stage for the performance. The stage was outdoors, as tradition dictated, with the audience seated on cushions arranged on the grass. It was late, and the bright sky was beginning to bruise towards the night.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Would you please bring some dinner boxes for myself and Lady Kaoru?" Lady Kame glanced over at Kaoru as though asking permission; Kaoru nodded. The lady-in-waiting bobbed a respectful bow and hastened over to where the theatre was selling boxed meals. She wasn't the only attendant there, but the lady she served was highly ranked enough that many of them fell back to let her go ahead.

Lady Kame sighed again.

"It's so refreshing to get out the castle," she said dreamily. "I do hope you're enjoying yourself, Lady Kaoru. I know how difficult the transition can be to married life – and I don't believe you've had the chance yet to meet anyone here in Edo?"

"I'm afraid not," Kaoru said politely. The beauty of the moment had put it from her mind: now the ever-present grief came seeping back in, guilt dogging at its heels. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment…?

"It's very kind of you to be so concerned," Kaoru said politely, waiting for the catch.

"I know we've only just met…" Lady Kame looked away, shy, and blushed a little. "But I do hope that we can be friends. Your husband is a dear friend of my father, you know."

"Is that so?" Kaoru sucked in a breath as subtly as she could.

They had returned to Edo yesterday, only a week after the attack. Lord Himura had been able to travel within two days, but had insisted on staying until he had some use of the arm again. It wasn't his sword-arm that had been wounded, but, he'd explained, he didn't want to take any chances with her and her sisters' safety. Spending a few more days recuperating would also give his men a chance to scour the area for any more bandits.

"One does apologize for the delay," he'd said, wincing as the doctor poked at his wound. "It's not too much trouble, is it?"

"No," she'd murmured, and handed him a fresh-poured cup of tea. He'd drunk from it without a moment's hesitation and she'd seen, suddenly, what could have been: his cold body washed and dressed for burial, those bright, strange eyes closed forever. If she'd made a different choice.

Had she made the right one?

She'd told Tae and Shirojo that she wouldn't consider the issue again until she could say for certain whether or not her husband was her enemy. She'd meant it then and she meant it now. Because – because of the way he'd leaned into her touch. Because of how his eyes lit when he saw her, and how carefully he held himself away when she could _see_ his hunger.

Because despite what she'd seen and what she knew – despite the bodies like cut grass in the wind and the blood soaking the dry earth – she couldn't believe that anyone could look at her the way he did and be her enemy.

"Oh yes!" Lady Kame had kept chattering, oblivious to Kaoru's brooding. She was a properly fluttery lady of the court: a charming adornment for her husband, bright and pleasing as a butterfly. "I know there are _such_ rumours about him, but we've had occasion to meet, you know, and he's really not as dreadful as the stories say. Although," and here her voice dropped conspiratorially, "he is _awfully_ serious. Is he so dour in private, too?"

Kaoru was so lost in thought that she nearly answered, despite the question's rudeness. Lady Kame saved her by giggling and pressing her fingers over her mouth, eye glowing with good humor.

"Do forgive me," she laughed in apology. "That was dreadfully rude!"

Kaoru forced a giggle, accepting Lady Kame's contrition.

"Serious? Well, I suppose…" The lady-in-waiting returned with two dinner boxes. The conversation paused briefly as they opened their meals and took the first few bites. "He's very polite."

"Anyway," Lady Kame continued blithely. "I'm sure he's a wonderful husband. He's not bad-looking, even with that hair – and even the stories admit that he's _never_ been cruel to a woman or a child, you know."

"What about his first wife?" Kaoru asked carefully, examining her food. Lady Kame's agenda was finally surfacing: it only made sense, she supposed, that the shōgun would take an interest in the success of her marriage, given its political significance. Why not send his daughter to probe the new bride's feelings?

"Oh, her?" Lady Kame shrugged dismissively. "Well, she _was_ a traitor."

Someone barked out a laugh behind them, harsh and derisive. Kaoru glanced over her shoulder to see a tall woman throwing back her head and laughing, holding her hand delicately to her mouth. Her eyes were fixed on Kaoru like the point of a blade.

"My my, Lady Kame. How sweet to see that you've remained so untouched by worldly concerns, even after your marriage."

"Lady Takani," Lady Kame said coolly, turning to face the woman but refusing to meet her eyes. "How pleasant – and rare – to see you enjoying such a refined occasion."

The lady laughed again, brushing off the subtle insult. "I'm so glad that we could have this chance meeting," she continued, flicking open her fan with an acidic smirk. "Is your lovely companion, perchance, the esteemable Lady Himura?"

"I am," Kaoru said evenly. "Forgive me, but I don't believe we've been introduced."

"Lady Kaoru, allow me to introduce you to the Lady Megumi Takani, who once served as my companion," Lady Kame said, grudgingly. Kaoru studied the two women, curious despite herself: Lady Kame clearly wanted to cut the other woman dead, yet something required her to treat Lady Takani with a minimum of courtesy. Lady Takani, on the other hand, seemed almost to revel in her onetime friend's discomfort.

"It's a pleasure," Kaoru said, bowing. Lady Takani returned the bow, politely enough.

"I had hoped we might meet," she said conversationally. "I'm well-acquainted with your husband."

"Oh?" She hadn't thought he was the type to keep a mistress, but she was hard-pressed to think of any other reason they would know each other. Noble ladies were rarely friends with men they weren't related to, and Lord Himura had no family. "In that case, I can hardly imagine why we haven't met."

"I've been attending to other business," she said smoothly. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wry grin as Lady Kame snorted cynically, as though she was inviting Kaoru to share in a joke. "I heard that dear Sir Ken was injured recently?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Lady Takani certainly referred to him intimately. But a mistress wouldn't normally dare approach their client's wife in public, and certainly not in a setting such as this. Unless that was the entire point. "My lord husband was wounded during a bandit attack as we returned to Edo."

"A rifle, I believe it was?" Lady Takani was still eyeing her slyly, but the mocking glint had faded from her eye. There was concern there, instead: very real, and very sincere.

Kaoru nodded. Lady Takani nodded, as though confirming something to herself.

"Has he let a doctor see it since then?" she asked sharply. "He's a dreadful patient; he'll forget that he's injured and work himself half to death if you don't keep an eye on him."

Kaoru fought the scowl tugging at her lips as irritation surged through her. Lady Takani was clearly bent on establishing herself as an intimate of Lord Himura. Which was fine; it wasn't as if Kaoru wanted what little claim she had on him. She had no particular desire to play Aoi to anyone's Rokujo.

Yet… Lady Takani's eyes said something other than what her words implied. Her feelings for Lord Himura ran deep: this wasn't simply a jealous mistress bullying their lover's new wife out of wounded pride. And there was a longing in her face that belied her insinuations of intimacy.

"Lady Takani," Kaoru said, putting as much sweetness as she could into her voice. "Do forgive my rudeness, but I find I must ask – what, precisely, is your relationship to my lord husband?"

Lady Takani looked away, snapping her fan shut. The question hung between them for a long moment as the shadows stretched on towards evening. A few stagehands came out to light the torches; the final play would begin soon.

"Lord Himura saved my life," Lady Takani said finally. Every last trace of sly mockery was gone from her voice. "And I am eternally grateful to him."

She met Kaoru's eyes, popping her fan open again, and the mischievous light was back in her eyes. "However, this is _hardly_ the place to speak of such _unpleasant _things. Might I call on you sometime, to discuss the matter further?"

Kaoru's first instinct was to say no: she didn't like this woman, with her fox-eyes and her arrogant brow. She didn't want to subject herself to some kind of _audition_ for the right to the love of a man whom she did not want. A man she had tried to kill; a man she had spared only because of her own weakness. Because try though she might, she could not see him as her enemy.

"How kind of you to offer," she said, not quite knowing why. "Do feel free to call whenever you have the time."

* * *

"I dunno, Sano," Kenshin muttered, watching the sake in his cup swirl – or possibly that was the room – no, he couldn't be _that_ drunk. The lanterns were burning a bit brighter than usual, that was all. Must be some new kind. He should ask the proprietor where he got them.

But he was definitely a _little_ drunk, because he was no longer upset that Sano had dragged him to a brothel. After dying his hair. He _liked_ his hair. It was good hair. It had kept his head warm faithfully for years. It didn't deserve the dye job that Sano had inflicted on it.

"Poor hair…" he said vaguely, and gulped down another cup of sake. Mind, it had done the trick. No one had recognized him so far, which meant that he was being treated as any other customer and not a massacre waiting to happen. Which was nice.

"Wazzat?" Sano slurred. Now, Sano was _definitely_ drunk. And covered in women. One in each arm, pouring him sake, and a third draped over his shoulders and whispering something, probably something filthy, in his ear.

"I dun_no_," Kenshin said again, a bit louder. "About your idea. That I do not."

"Look," Sano said, after a brief pause to murmur back in the general direction of the woman who had been whispering in and was now licking his ear, "'S ver'simple. Y'just gotta say watcha feel, y'know?"

He slammed back his own cup of sake and smacked his lips, letting out a little _ahh_ of satisfaction.

"I mean," he elaborated, waving his cup around to illustrate his point. "'smaybe she's got some, some _stuff_ goin' on right now. But, like, y'haven't actually done anythin' _bad_ t'her, right?"

"Well, aside from defeating her family and takin' all their stuff, but yesh, 's minor issue, really." Ah, sarcasm, his final refuge in troubled times. He eyed the sake flask contemplatively; Sano nudged on of the women plastered against him and she poured Kenshin another cup, smiling enticingly. He smiled back at her, not remotely tempted. If she's had any idea who he really was, she would be shaking as she served him.

"'Xactly!" Sano grinned at him. "Spoils 'f war an alla that crap. 'Point is – th' point ish – y'r a good guy, yanno? 'N if I coulda figgered it out in alla like three days then she's probably gotta know y'r a good guy too, yanno?"

"'S different, it is," Kenshin said, sipping this time. The room was feeling a little slanted, and he didn't want to be _that_ drunk. Couldn't afford to be, really: too much power plus a loss of control equaled a terrible time for all, or so his master had drilled into him. He'd never tested that teaching. For a change. "Y'weren't married t'me, thatchayawerenn't."

"…'strue. 'S very true." Sano nodded sagely. "That'd be weird."

Kenshin drew up his knee and rested his forehead against it. "That makes it different, y'know? 'S different," he muttered, searching for the words and not finding them. "…different."

"My lord?" One of the women detached herself from Sano's side and came to his, ducking her head to meet his eyes. "My lord, your heart is troubled. Won't you tell Kiku-chan about it?"

He furrowed his brow, perplexed, and squinted at her. "Who's Kiku-chan, that is?"

She giggled. "I am, my lord. If I understand the situation, my lord is recently married?"

"My lord, my lord," he grumbled. "Who named me that? Don' like it, tha'I don't."

"Then what would you like me to call you?" Her question was perfectly innocent, flirtatious even; she didn't mean for it to hurt. She didn't know that he would see another woman asking the same thing, so many years ago, when he had been too young to know better.

"…nevermind," he said, and closed his eyes. Ah. The melancholic stage. It _had_ been a while since he'd gone seriously drinking. "'S nothing."

"Hey. Hey hey hey. Hey, Kenshin!" Sano lurched forward, dislodging the women still hanging on him, and propped his elbows on the table. "There's'a idea! She's a woman! Y'r a woman!" he declared to Kiku, excitedly. She laughed.

"Why yes, I am, Sir Sano. Do you require proof?" she flirted, drawing her fingers seductively across her collarbone.

"Mebbe later, doll. But Kenshin, Kenshin, y'oughta ask her!"

"Ask her what?" Kenshin said blearily, missing the weight of his sword at his side. Like most establishments of ill-repute, the Lotus Flower required patrons to check their weapons at the door. It felt strange not to have his blade with him. Empty.

"'Bout'cher li'l missy, here."

"Oh." He looked up, focusing on Kiku. "What d'you think?"

"About your wife?" She tilted her head coquettishly, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck. It was – he observed, objectively – a very beautiful neck. Certainly – again, objectively – more perfect than Lady Kaoru's: paler and far more slender. But it was not – and this was very important – Lady Kaoru's neck. He'd never seen in flush with pleasure and sweat from the exertion and thrill of training, or draped with a careless strand of blue-black hair. Therefore, while it was a very beautiful neck, he had no interest in it.

He explained this to her, carefully, and Kiku trilled out a laugh. "What a lucky woman your wife is," she said, warmth in her voice. "She must be grateful to have such a devoted husband."

"No." He looked at his half-empty cup, glum, and covered it with his fingers when Kiku went to top it off. "'S not – she didn't wanna marry me t'begin with, anyway. Never even met her before the wedding…"

"Well, it can be very trying, for a young girl. The wedding night, in particular…" she said delicately. "_Do_ you want my advice?"

What the hell. It wasn't as if he could make things worse just by _listening_.

"…yes, please," he said meekly.

"Be gentle," she counseled, amusement glinting in her eyes. "Young girls are so easily frightened. If you are as… passionate… as you sounded just now, the poor child likely doesn't know what to do – with you or with herself. Ease her into things: show her that she has nothing to fear from the marriage bed."

He tilted his head. It _sounded_ like good advice. But something was jumping up and down in the back of his mind, trying to get his attention. A niggling feeling that the woman's recommendation, while very sound, was based on an inaccurate premise.

Oh.

"We don't have one," he grinned, proud of himself for figuring it out. Kiku blinked, politely.

"Marriage bed," he explained. "Don' have one, we don't. Didn't wanna – didn' wanna hurt her, y'know. So… 's problem, I mean, problem's that – I really, really like her, I _do_," he said earnestly, dimly aware of a growing consternation in Kiku's eyes. "An' I wan' her to like me, y'know, but 's like… 's complicated, y'know?"

"I… see," she said. There was _something_ going on in her expression, something disconcertingly honest. "You desired to wait until she," and Kiku paused here, as though the words felt strange in her mouth. "Until she accepted you."

Kenshin nodded. "Don' wanna scare her," he explained again. "Or hurt her. Not _ever._ 'S important," he said, enunciating as best he could with a wine-thick tongue. "Can't hurt people. You can't. 'S bad. Shouldn't be cruel, you should _not_."

"Does she know your feelings in the matter?" Kiku rallied like the expert that she was, but something he'd said had clearly shaken her. He had trouble imagining what, though that might just be the booze.

"I, uh…" _Had_ he ever talked to her about it? He couldn't quite recall; all his memories were wreathed in a liquor-fog. "…huh. Dunno. But – mean, even 'f I _did_, y'know, why'd she ever believe me? 'N what if it's – what if 's not enough? So I can't," he finished, satisfied with his explanation. "Gotta just put up with it, tha' I do."

"…I see. How – noble." And it was probably his imagination or the lighting or the liquor, but he almost imagined that the woman was smiling fondly.

"'S not noble, he muttered vaguely. "'S not noble if y'r s'_pposed_ to do it…"

"Y'r a '_fraidy-cat_," Sano chimed in, briefly distracted from his investigation of one of his women's cleavage. "'S not complicated a'tall. Don' wanna stuff from last time t'happen again s'y'r not even gonna takea chance…"

"So what?" Kenshin countered, feeling a sulk coming on. Sano didn't understand; Sano didn't _want_ to understand. He hadn't been there, after all. He'd only seen the aftermath, a year later, when Kenshin had finally started to carry the weight of it with some grace… "I ain't gotta takeachance if I don' wanna."

"Thass'true," Sano said, wrapping his arm around his companion's waist. "Y'can always be miserable."

"_Thank_ you," he said, attempting to draw himself up with some modicum of dignity. His spine didn't want to co-operate; his head felt vaguely detached from the rest of him. Yep. He was drunk.

"But…" Sano pulled away from the women surrounding him and fixed Kenshin with an unnaturally sober gaze. "D'y'think that's what _she_ would want?"

And Kenshin, knowing who Sano meant – remembering, suddenly, her deep black eyes and the subtle smile that had meant so much and in the end, so little – found that he had nothing to say.

* * *

It was raining. About time, too; the season had been delayed by nearly a week, and the flowers couldn't bloom without it. The sky had opened up and was dumping down sheets of rain that gusted sideways in the wind, and Kenshin noted with a glum lack of surprise that the dye Sano had put in his hair was starting to run and stain his clothing.

Technically, he shouldn't have been walking home alone. However, he and Sano had left his manor by going over the back wall for the very specific purpose of evading Kenshin's guard detail. They'd left a note. There would probably be trouble over that in the morning.

He would worry about that later. He had enough to fret over for right now. He was still a bit drunk, for one thing; although nothing was quite as sobering as a cold shower of water and the gods _had_ been kind enough to deliver one for his walk home, he was having to step very carefully. Otherwise the ground would leap up and try to hit him in the face. Tricky thing, the ground. Attacking when you least expect it. Not that it ever _would_ hit him, of course, he was quite tricky himself and rather fast on his feet, but still. Better to trod deliberately and make sure the ground stayed where it was supposed to be.

The other problem he had was that while he was sober enough to understand that trying to talk to Lady Kaoru _now_ would be a very, very bad idea, he was also drunk enough not to care, and also fairly certain that he'd lose the nerve in the morning if he didn't. So he was definitely going to talk to her, unless he sobered up at some point between now and getting back home, and that was – you know what, he wasn't going to think about any of the possible outcomes to a very stupid thing that he was going to do despite knowing better. That was future-Kenshin's problem. Present-Kenshin had enough to worry about, what with the ground and all. The tricky, tricky ground.

He was home before he knew it, soaked to the bone and blinking rainwater and hairdye out of his eyes. It was easy to sneak back over the wall, although the ground did manage to sucker-punch him on the way down.

"Well struck," he muttered to it, clambering back on his feet. "'S lotta potential, there. Good job."

Then he lurched his way inside, shedding water in his wake.

Kaoru was still awake. He was aware, dimly, that that was a good thing. Probably would be a bad ending if she was asleep. He was still going to do this, wasn't he? Yep. All present and correct; march on, my bold companions, into the arms of the abyss!

Kenshin giggled, and couldn't deny that it was, in fact, a giggle. Usually he tried to tell himself that it was a snicker. After all, it was important to have _some_ dignity.

He tasted blood and realized that he had bitten his lip. There were too many ways this could go badly, more than he could handle thinking about it, and it would be so very, very easy to just turn around and sleep it off and come at the problem in the morning, when he was sober. When he would think it through in the harsh light of day instead of the sake-soft darkness and decide not to after all.

_Do you think that's what she'd want?_

Goddamn Sano and his unexpected insights. And goddamn himself for a fool, because as much as he fully intended to blame it on the liquor until the day he died, he knew perfectly well that this was his own decision.

Kenshin steeled himself and knocked.

* * *

Kaoru sighed as she let down her hair, running her fingers through to catch any stray ornamentation. Then she cracked her back and picked up her brush, watching herself in her mother's mirror – her mirror, now, ever since mother's death, but she still didn't think of it as hers.

The brush pulled lightly at her hair. One hundred strokes every night, her mother had taught her. For beauty and patience. Of which Kaoru had plenty of the former, her mother had murmured, laughing, but all too little of the latter.

She would need patience, now.

The rain had begun right after the performance had concluded, just after she and Lady Kame had gotten into their palanquin. Lady Kame had shrieked in surprise at the first crack of thunder, subsiding rapidly into giggles at her own silliness and relief that they had just barely escaped a dousing. She'd spent the rest of the ride prattling, except for the very end, when she'd grown suddenly grave and advised Kaoru to reconsider allowing Lady Takani to call on her.

"You're new to Edo, so you might not know," she'd said, delicately, as a lady should when speaking of such matters. "But she's divorced – there was something of a scandal – anyway, she's hardly the _right sort_, you know."

"Thank you," Kaoru had said politely, holding to her smile like a shield. "I'm so grateful to have you guiding me."

Lord Himura had been gone when she got home – out drinking with an old friend who'd visited unexpectedly. It was a startlingly human reason; she hadn't been sure what to think of it. Neither had anyone else, according to Shirojo.

"But they _acted_ like old pals, you know," he'd said, shrugging. Then he'd grinned, a little ruefully. "Honestly, after the bandits, no one really felt like getting upset if he wanted to sneak out and pretend to be a common samurai. Most of his personal guards are actually kinda relieved that he doesn't seriously expect them to keep him safe. Not that they'd admit it, of course."

It had been easier to talk to Shirojo than Tae since the day of the bandit attack. Tae didn't approve of the choice that Kaoru had made, which was bad enough, but she also understood Kaoru's reasons. She just didn't approve of those, either.

"You gave him a chance," she'd said flatly, when Kaoru had tried to mend that bridge. "You were willing to believe that the stories weren't true. So was I, for a little while. But then – I saw what he did as clearly as you." She'd refused to meet Kaoru's eyes, which meant that she was truly angry. "There's no honor in unleashing _that_ on the battlefield; no one would ever stand a chance. What kind of man would wield such a merciless sword? So what if he's kind to you? Even a demon may show kindness to its mate – does that make it any less a demon?"

And that had been that. Tae was willing to hold her peace, but she would not change her mind.

Shirojo, though, didn't seem to care. He never had; he'd been around since she was a girl, one of the ever-present shadows in black and blue that came and went from her father's house on business she hadn't been old enough yet to know about. Easy-going, friendly, always willing to stop and entertain a bored child. Misao had whispered to her, once, that he was actually one of the most accomplished assassins in his clan. When Kaoru had responded that he certainly didn't _act_ like it, Misao had only grinned. That, she'd said cheerily, was precisely the point.

So it was mostly Shirojo whom she consulted with, now. Tae was always present, of course, but she rarely had anything to say.

Fifty strokes in. Her hair always frizzed a little during the rainy season, just as her mother's had; she'd found a bottle of Tae's special hair oil in her bath things that morning. Not quite an apology, but close enough. An affirmation: that she still cared, even though she believed Kaoru was making a mistake. That she wasn't giving up.

Her eyes watered for a moment before she blinked them clear again. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the politics. It was just that… it had all seemed so far away, until today. It was one thing to know the consequences of your choices, and another thing to _understand_ them – to understand that every friendship must be guarded, now, every new acquaintance carefully assessed for their agendas. Not that her life would have been much different, had her father lived, except…

Except that she'd be married to a man of her own choosing, and her father would be alive to help her. She wouldn't be learning this alone, or entering the dance from such a weak position: daughter to a fallen house, half-captive bride sold for a handful of rice.

So it had mattered, that little bottle of hair oil, and what Tae had meant by it. _You are not alone_. Tae was there, even if she disagreed; her loyalty was nothing if not absolute. Shirojo might not be the most politically minded, but he had training and a network. She _wasn't_ alone. She had to remember that: there were people supporting her, and people relying on her. So – and her father's words echoed in her heart – she would succeed. She wasn't allowed to fail.

It didn't make things better, but it kept her from feeling worse.

One hundred strokes. She pushed her hair from her face and braided it swiftly, pulling the end over her shoulder. The night was cool, and she shivered a little in her thin summer robe.

There was a knock at her door.

"Honored wife?" Lord Himura called softly.

Kaoru froze, staring at herself in the mirror as her heart slammed against her ribs. Her fingers were still buried in her hair; she finished the braid automatically as she responded. The rain drummed down on the roof in a ceaseless chorus.

"Yes, honored husband?"

"…will you open the door?"

His voice sounded odd: quiet – he was always quiet – but strained somehow, as though it was an effort to speak clearly. She clutched her hand in her robe, breath coming rabbit-fast.

There was really only one reason that he would be coming to her door so late at night. He must have decided – it was to be _now_ – she wasn't ready for this. But she didn't have a choice. She couldn't refuse him. She couldn't stop him from taking what was his by right…

"Of course, honored husband," she said, voice only wavering a little. The air was thick, and very heavy, and it felt like climbing a mountain just to get to her feet. Outside a gust of wind slammed rain against the wall like shattering glass. Thunder roared. "Just a moment."

She tied her belt a little tighter. Futile. But what else could she do?

Slowly, she crossed her room and opened the door to let her husband in.

Lord Himura was standing in the hall, soaking wet but not quite drenched enough to mask the smell of sake and cheap perfume. So he _had_ been out in the rougher parts of town. The hallway was dark; she couldn't quite see him. He took a step out of the shadows and she forced herself to meet his eyes, the eyes that she knew would be alight with hunger…

"…what happened to your _hair?_" she blurted out before she could stop herself. It looked _filthy_ – soaked and leaking black water everywhere, the red darkened almost to an ashy grey. There was a flash of lightning, and she saw he eyes widen guiltily, like a child caught stealing sweets.

"Oro?" He grabbed at one of his bangs and pulled it out in front of his face, eyes crossing with the effort of looking at it. "Ah. Um. Sano dyed it, he did, yes indeed. It was not a very good job, it was not, that is true."

He was over-enunciating. His turns of phrase were even stranger than they normally were. And he _reeked_ of alcohol.

"It was his plan," Lord Himura continued, his careful syllabic control beginning to degrade. "An' it worked, but it wasn't hardly any fair to my hair, that-it-was-_not_." Giving up on examining his bangs, he pulled the end of his ponytail over his shoulder and looked at that instead. Dye ran out of it and stained his fingertips.

"'S good hair. Keeps my head warm," he said mournfully, staring at his fingers. "Didn' deserve this…"

It was such an incongruous sight: the man she'd _seen_ slaughter a dozen men in an eyeblink, whom she _knew_ to be dangerous beyond all description, standing soaking wet in the darkened hallway with a bad dye job and _mourning his hair_ –

Kaoru snorted. Her lips started to curl up at the edges and she fought to keep them still, clasping her hands instinctively over her mouth. Despite her best efforts, her shoulders began to shake, laughter welling up inside her until it was impossible to completely muffle and she squeaked out a helpless giggle.

"Oro?" he said again, blinking. She choked back another laugh, biting hard on the inside of her cheek.

Then, quite suddenly, the very tips of his fingers were at her temple; his touch shot through her like lightning, like fire. She looked up, startled into silence – he'd _never_ touched her before – and saw him smiling. His eyes were hooded with pleasure as he drew a stray strand through his fingers, leaving warmth in his wake.

"…made you laugh," he murmured. Then his hand was gone and she was left staring, cold with the knowledge of what they were to one another. Of what he probably wanted.

Lord Himura cleared his throat.

"Came t'say something," he said, shifting. "'N important thing."

"…yes, honored husband?" Kaoru dropped her hands from her mouth to her sides, clenching her fingers lightly in her robe. She wanted to draw them up across her chest, to shield herself, but she resisted; it wouldn't do any good, and she refused to cower. Not to him. Not ever.

He glanced away, face reddened with alcohol and something more, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I…" he began to say, and she started a little at his casual tone. "I doneverwanna hurt you or make y'scared," he said, so hurried that it took her a moment to understand him. His flush deepened. "So – 'f I ever – if I do somethin' to – scare you, or it hurts you, or somethin' – y'gotta tell me. So I can fix it. Please."

Kaoru stared at him, uncertain. There was something desperate in his eyes – there always was, when he looked at her – but this went deeper than the hunger. This was almost fear. As if he had any reason to fear her, who lacked the courage to kill him even when given the perfect chance. Even when all honor and piety demanded it: for her father, for her fallen house.

"Please," he said again, and swayed towards her. She forced herself to be still, to not give ground. He came nearly too close and pause, breath hot against her skin. She swallowed, fear blooming in her despite herself, and braced for what she knew was coming: for the fire that would devour her whole and leave her ashes. The moment stretched out between them, taut with possibility, and her entire body – from the tips of her fingers to the tops of her feet – tingled with anticipation.

Then he took a step back, closing his eyes briefly as if in pain.

"Thas' all," he said, rubbing idly at his shoulder and looking away. The wounded one, she noted in a bit of a daze. Was that his kimono's dye running, or blood from a re-opened wound?

"Honored husband." She'd spoken without meaning to. He looked back at her.

"Your shoulder," she said, as something gave way inside her. "You should have a doctor look at it again. Just in case."

Her throat was swollen with things she had no words for: with the same feeling she'd had after they'd trained together, when he'd offered to help her find another sword. Of knowing that the world was one way, and wishing it could be another, because the other way might hurt but it was so much simpler –

_I have no reason to kill him_, she thought abruptly. _I never did_. Except for her own outraged honor, and that was supposed to be reason enough but it was so hard to feel that way when he was right in front of her, looking at her like she was something new, and precious.

"Oh." There was a strange note in his voice, almost sad. "Y'r right. Tomorrow, I guess. Yep. Um – "

He smiled a little.

"G'night, honored wife." His eyes were bright in the darkness, shimmering and strange, and she wasn't afraid. _She wasn't afraid._

"Good night, honored husband," she said softly.

He left. She went back into her room and lay down on her bed, and did not sleep.


	6. tangled roots perplex her ways

**A/n: IMPORTANT SCHEDULING NOTES.**

**So, I'm in my third year of law school and coming up on exams; furthermore, I'm getting ready for the bar. With that in mind, there will be some changes to the update schedule.**

**The next update for _Invictus_ will be the weekend of MAY 25th. The next update for _Vaster Than Empires_ will be the weekend of JUNE 1ST. **

**After that, I will be going on hiatus for my bar exam prep period, and for the test itself. This hiatus will end the weekend of AUGUST 10th. At that point, regular updates for both stories will resume.**

**I apologize for the disruption and hope you will bear with me. I am _not_ abandoning these stories; this is a _planned hiatus_ with a specific end-date, and I am going on it because I need to prioritize my real life over my fanfiction. Thank you all for your patience during this time.**

**This message will be reposted in my author's profile.**

**Also, you should check out my profile to see the new fanart that theDah has created for me. Is very good.**

* * *

Lord Himura was gone by the time Kaoru woke, off on the shōgun's business, and she was grateful for that. Her head ached as though she was the one who'd been drinking; she hadn't slept until the sun was paling the sky and then she'd only dozed. She struggled into her purloined hakama and shuffled her way into the dojo anyway, yawning hugely.

It was a grey morning, cool and misty. The rainy season had finally come, it seemed, and soon the hydrangeas would be blooming. There were no flowers in Lord Himura's courtyard, only a rock garden and few ornamental pines. She wondered why he'd chosen the arrangement and then realized that he probably hadn't, that he'd probably simply accepted the manor as it was presented to him, and wondered why she was so certain of that.

Then she shook her head, brought the wooden sword down, and began.

The worst of her exhaustion had burned away under the sweat and strain of practice when Tae quietly announced her presence.

"My lady?"

Kaoru completed her swing. "Yes?"

"There is a visitor – the Lady Takani?"

"...so soon?" She walked to the door. "We only met yesterday…"

Tae only raised an eyebrow at her. She knew about the incident at the play, of course; Kaoru had told both her advisors about it. They'd agreed, after some discussion, not to pursue the relationship unless Lady Takani did. Association with a scandal could damage Kaoru's standing, which would affect her ability to maneuver and protect herself but she wanted – needed – information that it seemed the Lady Takani was able and willing to provide. So, if the lady came to call, Kaoru would accept her visit. One could hardly turn away a visitor, after all, not unless they had offered dire insult. It was only seeking Lady Takani out that could be read as her desiring friendship with a shameless woman, and therefore put her in danger.

At least, Kaoru and Shirojo had agreed. Tae had only shrugged and said that Kaoru was determined not to listen to her advice, so what was the point in giving it?

Kaoru sighed, remembering.

"I need to change," she said. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Please convey my apologies for the wait."

Tae bowed and left, and Kaoru went to douse herself with water and change.

Lady Takani was waiting in an outer room, kneeling with her eyes half-closed and her hands cupped loosely around a lacquered box. There was a pot of tea on a tray nearby, untouched.

"Lady Takani," Kaoru said as she entered and bowed. "How pleasant to see you so soon."

Lady Takani's eyes opened quickly, as though startled from thought, and she bowed in response.

"I do hope you'll forgive my forwardness," she said smoothly, "but it seemed appropriate that we speak sooner rather than later. Here." She placed the box carefully between them as Kaoru knelt across from here. "It's only a trifle, I'm afraid…"

"Oh, you're too kind," Kaoru said automatically. Lady Takani lifted the lid to reveal twelve sweets, elegantly crafted in the signs of the zodiac and arranged in the cycle of the years. "They're lovely. I'm honored; it's far too great a gift. Would you care for some tea?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Lady Takani said. Kaoru moved the gift politely aside – it would be rude to pay it further attention – and poured the tea. The other woman took her cup and cradled it in elegant fingers.

"So," she said finally. "I suppose Lady Kame's told you all about me."

"Not really." Apparently they were going to skip most of the courtesies. That was fine; they both knew why they were here, and Kaoru preferred honesty. "Only that there was a scandal. And that you're divorced."

Lady Takani nodded. "That was Sir Ken's influence," she said softly. "If not for him…" And then she laughed a little. "You know, I'm not really sure where to start. Forgive me, Lady Kaoru, but it's not a story I often share."

Kaoru considered her options, half a dozen responses racing through her mind, most of them harsh. There were other answers she could give, softer ones, if she'd wanted Lady Takani for a friend – if she'd liked her at _all_ – but she didn't want to be bosom companions. Lady Takani had approached her, Lady Takani was the one with some kind of message to pass on, so working up the nerve to speak was her own damn responsibility.

Yet Kaoru's voice was gentle when she asked: "Then why are you here?"

"Because Sir Ken is a good man," Lady Takani said, meeting Kaoru's gaze head-on. "And he deserves to be happy. I had thought, once, that perhaps…" She looked down and away. "Well, nevermind."

"A good man..." Kaoru turned the teacup in her hands, watching the liquid swirl. "You _do_ know what the stories say, don't you?"

Lady Takani snorted. "He's as human as you or I, believe me. He bleeds and weakens and breaks bones just like anyone else; he needs food and rest as much as any man – generally more, given how he pushes himself. He's no demon."

Kaoru tilted her head, examining Lady Takani. "Have you ever seen him fight?" she asked, too sweetly, and Lady Takani's eyes shaded into caution.

"No," she said.

"I have." Kaoru took a slow sip of her tea, letting the bitter liquid slide down her throat and wishing, suddenly, that it was something stronger. "The stories don't do it justice."

She remembered: flies buzzing over the dead men and lighting in the sticky rivulets of blood oozing from their wounds. Crawling across their faces, into their mouths and gathering in their open eyes. The flies and the smell, awful and charnel, sickly-sweet with a hint of voided bowels. One of the dead men had eaten just before the attack, and half-digested rice had spilled from his stomach where he fell.

Her hands tightened around her cup, bones creaking. The road had been turned into an abattoir in less time than it had taken her to gasp her shock at seeing Lord Himura truly _move_. And how he'd moved – terrible and sudden as the lightning, inexorable as the rushing waves.

She knew that Lady Takani was examining her, just as she knew that the hand not gripping her cup was shaking. Outside, a gentle patter of rain began to fall.

"You're afraid of him," Lady Takani said quietly.

"No," Kaoru said, and was surprised to find that it was true. "No," she said again, thinking of his eyes gleaming soft and yearning in the dark, of his mild voice fumbling for words. The surprise and awe in his face when he'd woken, injured, to find her kneeling at his side; the sincerity in his voice whenever he spoke to her. "Not of _him_ – "

She cut herself off, choking on the words. Honesty was one thing, but Lady Takani had no right to this, this _intimacy_, not on less than an hour's acquaintance.

"Forgive me, Lady Takani," she said formally. "I've interrupted your story."

_I'll show you mine_, she thought, and let it show in her eyes, _but you have to show me yours, first_.

Lady Takani blinked for a moment, pulling back as if to refuse; then she smiled a small, bitter smile.

"Fair enough," she said, and Kaoru thought her voice was a little warmer than it had been. "The scandal, then."

And there _was_ warmth there, but a certain menace with it.

"When I was twelve," she began, running a finger along the lip of her cup, "I was betrothed to the son of my father's patron. It was a terribly advantageous match, and I was glad to have my future and my family's fortunes secured."

She took a sip, eyeing Kaoru over the rim. "What more can a woman hope for, after all? My family was elevated by our association with a far greater clan, and my children would bear a proud name. There is no greater happiness," she said deliberately, "than to be of service to one's house."

"Indeed," Kaoru murmured, not without irony.

"We married as soon as I was fourteen," she continued. "He was older than me, so there was no need to wait once I came of age. And for a time – I was happy, you know." Her eyes were grave. "I didn't love him, of course, and he didn't love me, but he was a dutiful husband and provided well for me. I looked forward to giving him his first son, to being a mother."

She closed her eyes for a moment, grief emerging in the lines of her face.

"My first pregnancy was not successful," she said, flatly. "Neither was my second – and that was when the difficulties began. My husband blamed me, you see." There was that quick smile again, twisted and bitter. "I must have been unfaithful, or plotting against him. I must be poisoning his children in the womb out of spite, or perhaps they were killing themselves in shame for their mother's profligate ways. Either way, it was my fault."

Lady Takani's face shifting again, become eerily expressionless as she spoke. As if she was reciting a story that had happened to someone else, long ago.

"His behavior changed. I was confined to my room, with female guards to watch me, and he would come to me nightly whether I willed it or not. As soon as the midwife found that I had conceived, I was restrained to prevent me from doing anything to harm the child."

Her throat worked. Kaoru put her cup down.

"Lady Takani…"

Lady Takani held up her hand. "You should hear it," she said, licking her lips, and her fingers were trembling as faintly as the surface of a pond. "All of it. You must understand what I mean, when I say that your husband saved my life. You must understand – the kind of man I know him to be."

_I think I already do_, she wanted to say, but it looked like it might kill Lady Takani to leave the story half-untold. So she kept her peace.

"This time, I bore a live child," she said, and her voice became very small. "A son – except." Another pause, a deep breath, and the air around her seemed to draw in. "He was – abnormal. Deformed. Otherwise healthy, but…"

She was far too terribly still, and Kaoru's heart ached for her, for the child she'd borne. It was a uniquely female nightmare: she'd only been a little girl when her mother had carried Ayame and Suzume but she remembered her fear, the endless trips to shrines and temples and careful observation of every small superstition, each minute change in her body. Her father, hovering worried and helpless, and how much more terrible must it have been to go through that after failing twice, with a husband who blamed you for it?

"Lady Takani, please, you don't need to – "

"I ran," Lady Takani said bluntly, talking over Kaoru as if she didn't hear. "I knew as soon as I saw the child that my husband would kill him – would kill me. So I took my child and I ran, away from him, back to my parent's house. They refused to help."

She looked down at her hand, eyes dark.

"I was dishonoring them, failing them. My unsuccessful marriage had brought shame to the family and made things – difficult between my father and his patron. They ordered me to return and repent for my bad behavior. After all," her knuckles were white as she clenched her hand in her gown, "he was my husband. I was his to dispose of. I had left with nothing but the clothes on my back, no dowry for the divorce temple, no way to support myself, and my husband would be looking for me to take vengeance for my treachery. I don't know what I would have done, then – died, probably – if Sir Ken hadn't – if he hadn't happened to be passing by when they were dragging me back to my husband."

"He stopped them," Kaoru said, without meaning to. She could see it, that was the odd thing: the frightened woman clutching her child to her breast as she fought against the hands pushing and pulling her towards the carriage and then suddenly _he_ would be there, standing between the struggle and the palanquin and asking mildly if anything was the matter.

Lady Takani looked up, and her face was indescribable: grief and remembered terror, relief and gratitude. The rain picked up, dancing along the gutters and dancing along the shoji.

"Yes," she said simply, voice trembling. "He stopped them. He listened to my story – he _believed _me – he convinced my husband to divorce me and let me keep my child. He took me in and helped me start my own life. I was a stranger to him, and he saved me. If not for him, I would be – and my son – "

A pause, and a deep breath, and the passionate edge receded. When she spoke her voice was serene again, but the mirror-surface of her sly eyes had cracked to show a naked, unrequited longing.

"So you see, Lady Himura," she said. "I owe Sir Ken a debt that I can never repay. And he has never asked me to. But the obligation remains: so here I am."

Lady Takani loved him; Kaoru could hear it plainly in the words that she didn't say. She loved him, and he didn't return her feelings, never had, never _would _and she knew it – and that was why there was no jealousy in her, only poignant resignation.

_Sir Ken is a good man_, she'd said, eyes aglow with conviction, _and he deserves to be happy_.

The strange thing, though, was that nothing about the story Lady Takani had told really surprised her.

"What do you want, Lady Takani?" Kaoru asked, her voice still gentle.

"What do I want – ?" Lady Takani almost laughed, a small dry thing more exhale than sound. "To meet you, I suppose. To tell you that the stories about him – they're _not _true – that he is a good man, and he's only human. I know what you must fear," she said quickly. "I've _lived_ it – and you must understand. He is not that kind of man. He would die, first."

"I know he's not." Kaoru spoke without quite meaning to, again, and didn't realize what she'd said until Lady Takani drew herself up like a rattlesnake about to strike, the hurt in her eyes echoing in the line of her back.

"Then you let me go on – why? For the _gossip_ – ?"

"No!" Kaoru said quickly. "No, it's not that, I – Lady Takani, please, sit down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. That's not it."

Lady Takani subsided slowly, eyeing her with obvious distaste, and Kaoru shook her head to try and jostle the right words into place.

"I'm not afraid of him," Kaoru said, knowing in her bones that it was true. "Not anymore. I'm afraid – "

_What am I afraid of?_ Because there _was_ fear: even with her absolute certainty that he would never hurt her, even with the strange shivering _something_ she felt when she saw the hunger in his eyes, there was still _fear_. Just not of him. And yet…

She closed her eyes and breathed deep, drawing air and life into her center. Then she found the words.

"I'm not afraid of him," she said again. "I'm afraid of _what he is._"

There was a long pause.

"You realize," Lady Takani said, dry as old bones, "that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

"Well, excuse me!" Kaoru snapped. "You say that the stories aren't true – but I've seen him fight, Lady Takani, and he is _everything_ the stories say and then some! And at the same time – at the same time, he's the man who rescued you, who's – who's been nothing but kind to me, asked nothing of me at all despite having every right – and _how_ can he be both those people and still be _sane?_ One of them_ must_ be a lie!"

The words came out without her permission, without pause for breath or consideration for propriety. There was a crack of thunder outside; the wind threw rain against the roof, rattling the shingles.

"And it can't be the demon, because _I've seen him fight, _Lady Takani, and he is _inhuman_. But the other self – that kindness – that's real, too. How can they both be real? How can he be two completely opposite things? How – "

And then, at last, the words ran dry; her throat closed and she sank into herself, hands clenched tight into trembling fists. The silk of her kimono was cool between her fingers and she felt Lady Takani's eyes on her for a long time, regarding her with something that might have been awe, or pity, or both.

"Is he truly that terrible, when he draws his sword?" she asked, finally.

"…yes," she choked out. "Yes. He – it was like a bloody rain," she whispered. "And it happened too quickly to see. They didn't stand a chance."

"Bandits, weren't they?" Her voice was light, calm as if she was inquiring after Kaoru's health.

Kaoru nodded.

"I'm surprised he bothered," Lady Takani said, picking up her cup. "Couldn't the guards have dealt with it?"

"They attacked in two groups," she said vaguely, the steel clash of swords and cries of dying men echoing in her mind. "One went after the packhorses, and the other went for the palanquin – the one I was in, with my sisters. There weren't enough guards there – he ordered mine to help the others and the bearers to run, and then he – "

And then he'd drawn his sword, and made a bloody rain fall. As if the sky had opened up in a brief summer shower, but instead of clear water it was red and hot and stinking.

Her hands were shaking. She looked at them, dimly surprised.

"I see." Lady Takani took a sip of her tea. "He was helping his men."

_Don't stray from this spot_, he'd said, eyes burning with pale fire. Then later, struggling to keep himself upright with his bloody wound soaking through the bandages, he'd asked her forgiveness. For failing her. For endangering her and her sisters. And promised that it would never happened again…

_I don't ever want to hurt or scare you,_ he'd slurred out to her, just last night. _So you have to tell me. If I hurt or scare you. So I can fix it. _

Almost begging her.

_Please_.

"No," and her throat was raw with unshed tears. "He was protecting me." And that, _that_ was why she hadn't been able to kill him, she knew with a sudden and terrible clarity: because for all she'd seen, for all she knew it must mean, that bloody rain had been _to keep her safe_ and she could not repay him with death for trying to protect her.

And it frightened her, that he could – would – do that for her sake.

Lady Takani made a contemplative noise deep in her throat, examining her cup.

"You know," she said idly. "Even when my husband was threatening him – no matter what the provocation – in all the time that he was helping me, he never drew his sword."

Kaoru almost laughed. "Would you have liked that?" she asked sharply. "To watch men slaughtered just to keep you safe?"

"No," Lady Takani snapped back. "Do you think he enjoyed the slaughter?"

His eyes, soft and pleading; the wound soaking through his shirt and his half-sincere assurance that he would see a doctor tomorrow. Today, now. When he hadn't seen one since they'd left the village, and bullet wounds infected so easily…

"No," she said reluctantly. "I don't think he does."

Lady Takani nodded brusquely, in a _there-you-have-it_ sort of way.

"I would suggest, Lady Himura," she said with a certain reserve, "that you have greater faith in your instincts."

"…What?"

"Your instincts," she elaborated, taking another sip. "They're very good. You've certainly figured out more of his character than I'd expected."

"How _kind_ of you to say so," Kaoru muttered, frustration building in her again. This was precisely what she had wanted to avoid, this _testing_, and suddenly she couldn't stop herself from speaking, _again_. "You do realize that I don't love him, right? I'm not a threat to you; if you want to seduce him, feel free. You don't need to _audition_ me – "

"He will never love me." Lady Takani said it with such matter-of-fact conviction that Kaoru found herself, yet again, at a loss for words. "He may never love anyone again. But nonetheless, he deserves some happiness. I don't care if you love him, I don't care if you even like him – but I will not have you making him miserable."

"And what exactly would you do to stop me?"

She smirked. "Do you really think I'd tell you? Besides, I don't need to. I can tell from this conversation alone that cruelty isn't in your nature."

Kaoru remembered the deadly weight of the medicine packet in her sleeve, the lukewarm tea against her finger as the poison swirled and then dissolved. She remembered the smell of it, slightly bitter, and the spreading stain in the soil when she'd poured it off the edge of the porch. Her stomach roiled; she'd come so close, and some icy whispering thing still wondered if she had been right to turn away…

"You don't know the first thing about my nature," she whispered, burning hot and cold.

Lady Takani raised a single delicate brow. "Don't I?" she asked, and then continued on. "I know what it is, when your family betrays you, when they sell you into dishonor for their own gain. How deeply the hatred runs; how the despair infects your bones and rots you from the inside. I know how helpless you must feel, and how frightened. I'm sure you've thought of killing him; perhaps you've even made plans to, dutiful daughter that you are. After all, if not for him, Lord Tokugawa might have lost. If not for him, your father might still be alive. And here you are, forced to marry him, to share his bed and raise his children. I am samurai as well, Lady Himura." Her eyes were unaccountably soft. "I understand your shame."

Kaoru swallowed, shaking under Lady Takani's scrutiny. She hadn't felt this _dissected_ since her father had been alive, and it was terrible and freeing all at once to have someone shine a light into the dark places – all the shame and rage and bitter hate, and the terrible image of her father charging into the swirl of steel and cleaving flesh. Her uncle sneering down on her, reminding her of her _place_ – a tool and a toy for men, a vehicle for their ambitions…

"…and what if I'm wrong?" she said finally.

"It does take a certain amount of courage," Lady Takani remarked acerbically, and Kaoru's back stiffened.

_There are many ways to be brave._

She raised her head and stared straight into Lady Takani's eyes.

"Are you calling me a coward?" she demanded.

"Are you one?" Lady Takani shot back.

"No," she said, "and forgive me, Lady Takani, but I don't _like_ you."

Lady Takani shrugged. "You don't have to," she said, with a subtle smile. "All you have to do is pay attention."

"Like his first wife did?" Kaoru retorted, and had a sudden feeling of going almost too far. She soldiered on. "What if she took the same risk – trusted her _instincts?_"

A chill descended over the room.

"That," Lady Takani said, jaw tense, "was different."

"So you know what happened." Kaoru leaned forward, bracing herself lightly against the mats by the tips of her fingers. "Don't you?"

Now it was Lady Takani's turn to stiffen and withdraw. "I – no. Not the – details." She rallied quickly. "But I know it can't be true."

"And how's that?"

"Because of how he looks when he talks about her," Lady Takani said tersely. "Not that he generally _does_, mind you, but – once or twice, he said things – he still grieves for her, you know, even after all these years."

There was a story in her eyes, and Kaoru realized that she didn't need to ask how Lady Takani knew that Lord Himura still mourned his first wife. It was the same way she knew that Lord Himura didn't return her feelings, and never would.

"And you think that's enough?" Kaoru asked quietly. "Enough to gamble my life on?"

"You're a woman," Lady Takani said. "What choice do you have?"

* * *

Kenshin shoved the brim of his hat away from his face, wondering vaguely why he was bothering to wear one. The rain was_ incessant;_ it had started mid-morning and refused to let up, and everyone was soaked through to the bone. Even Sano's hair was plastered against his head, and Kenshin hadn't thought _anything_ could make that mess lie flat.

"I gotta say, Kenshin," Sano muttered, wiping futilely at his face with an equally-drenched sleeve, "you must be the only high muckety-muck in Japan who'd actually bother sittin' out here in the rain all evening."

"One hardly had a choice," Kenshin objected, keeping his voice soft. "The shōgun's instructions were to handle the matter personally, after all – and anyway, if the murderer is as skilled a swordsman as the evidence suggests, one could hardly leave the men to handle it alone in good conscience."

"Yeah…" Sano stirred, uneasy. "About that evidence… I dunno if I trust that Hondo guy."

"You've never met Lord Hondo."

"Well, that trained monkey he sent wears too much perfume," Sano grumbled. "An' I don't like the shape of his nose."

"That's a bit unfair, it is." Kenshin couldn't quite stop a snicker from rising in his throat. "Sir Iishido is a loyal samurai, he is, with a fine record of service."

However, he did wear a _great_ deal of perfume. And his nose was remarkably like a strawberry in both shape and color. He'd arrived at Kenshin's manor early that morning with the results of Lord Hondo's aborted investigation and pronounced himself at Kenshin's disposal for the duration. He had been in charge of Lord Hondo's efforts, after all, and was the son of a magistrate; his family had always helped enforce law and order on Lord Hondo's land.

Truthfully, Kenshin didn't particularly like the man – he had an oily, too-gracious way about him – but he needed the help and anyway, it wasn't Iishido's fault that he had such an unpleasant face. His record was sterling, and he served an honorable lord. That was all that should matter.

Sano shifted a little further under the eaves. "Just outta curiosity – how long are ya gonna give this murderer t'show up before you call it off?"

"All night. If he doesn't come, then there's no helping it; but Lord Hondo's investigation indicated that Sir Yoida was the most likely next target."

Sir Yoida was a hereditary vassal of the Tokugawa, as Sir Narita had been. Another loyal head of his small and unambitious clan. Both men had played key roles in Sekigahara, having been trusted with rifle units; other than that and their mutual allegiance to the Tokugawa, they had nothing else linking them together. But Lord Hondo seemed certain, and what did Kenshin know about this sort of work?

"Aw _man_." Sano forgot to keep his voice down; Kenshin shushed him, and he rolled his eyes. "Can't believe my ass is sittin' out in the rain when I could back at the Lotus Blossom…"

"You didn't need to come," Kenshin pointed out. "That was your own decision."

"What, and let'cha get so sucked into this court bullshit that ya forget which way is up? I don't think so, buddy. Y'need someone to keep your head on straight. Besides," and he cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders to settle into a more comfortable position, "I wanna hear how things went between you and the missus last night."

"Oro..." Kenshin pulled his knee up a little further, staring determinedly at Sir Yoida's manor. Light poured from it, barely penetrating the crushing dark of the overcast night and the endless, thrumming rain. Silhouettes moved from room to room, unhurried, going about the evening's business. "We should really be more concerned with the current affair, that we should."

"Kenshin." Somehow, even with it flat against his skull from the pouring rain, Sano _still_ managed to look meaningfully out from under his mane of hair. "Don't tell me y'went and fucked it up."

"No! Well. That is. One is… not entirely sure," Kenshin said weakly, heat rising in his face. "One's memories are somewhat…"

Sano convulsed with laughter, slamming his hand over his mouth to muffle it. A few chortles spilled out anyway and the retainer posted a few feet away from them looked curiously over. Onishi, that was his name: he had a pack of daughters, and his wife was pregnant with what they both devoutly hoped would be a son. Not that anyone had _told_ Kenshin that; he'd picked it up from listening.

Kenshin waved at him to mind his own business, blushing furiously.

"It's not _funny_," he muttered furiously, glaring his so-called friend as he spluttered against the side of the building, "and one would think you'd see that – "

"No, it's funny alright." Sano gasped out. "All that fuckin' angst an' drama an' y'were so damn drunk ya forget it all – " He sobered, abruptly. "Unless y'think you mighta' done somethin', y'know…"

"No!" Kenshin said, a little too loudly. Onishi looked over at them again, clearly concerned. Kenshin ignored him, focused on reviewing what little he could remember of last night. He remembered standing outside her room, shoulder throbbing, and the scent of jasmine enveloping him as she opened the door. He'd told her – something… "One would remember such a thing, truly – unless – Sano, how drunk _was_ I?"

Because he remembered two other things, two impossible things: he remembered her laughing, and that he'd run his fingers through her hair and _why_ would he have touched her without her permission if he hadn't –

"Not _that_ drunk," Sano whispered frantically, waving his hands in slightly panicked reassurance. "Shit, there ain't enough sake in _Japan_ t'get ya _that_ drunk – "

"Then why on earth would you bring it up?" Kenshin's eyebrow twitched dangerously.

"I dunno!" Sano rubbed the back of his neck. "Y'just seemed really worked up about it, is all, I thought maybe something _bad_ had happened, shit. Y'_are_ my friend, y'know."

Kenshin forced himself to relax, focusing on the absolute sincerity in Sano's face. Sano was his friend – his first, oldest, truest, _only_ friend – and Sano didn't lie.

And he _was_ on edge, if he was getting angry at Sano for being an insensitive clod. May as well be angry at the sun for rising, or the sea for tasting of salt.

"Sorry," he muttered, his irritation fading. "I'm sorry, Sano. One is – it's difficult."

"Yeah, I kinda got that." Sano punched his shoulder, lightly – _we're still good, right?_ – and Kenshin let him, smiling wryly. Onishi was still staring at them, confusion and surprise written plainly on his face. Kenshin gestured for him to go back to standing watch, a little more sharply this time.

"It can't be that bad, right?" Sano continued. "I mean, she didn't like, try t'poison your tea this mornin' or anything, did she?"

"One wouldn't know," Kenshin said softly. Sano gave him another _look_, not quite disappointed; mostly just amused.

"Y'left before she woke up, didn'tcha?"

"Yes." Kenshin looked up towards the sky, reluctant, hoping the darkness hid the worst of his blush.

"Too embarrassed, huh?"

"Yes." He'd never been able to hide anything from Sano.

Sano snorted. "Maybe I should play go-between. Whaddya think?"

Kenshin's eyes widened and he choked on air, several horrifying visions playing out in his mind's eye.

"Sano," he squeaked out, "while one appreciates the offer, it is truly, _truly_ beyond the obligations of friendship – "

Then he realized that Sano was snickering, _again_, and scowled. He was about to respond with some choice commentary on Sano's sense of humor when the shouting began from the other side of the estate. Kenshin snapped to attention, Sano tensing beside him; a second later, they were running, along with the rest of his men.

It was a melee: a mob of ragged men against his retainers, shouts echoing down the street as swords rang against each other like temple bells. The rain had the men fighting half-blind and made footing uncertain; some of the fighters were already down and being trampled underfoot. Sano plunged in without a second thought, barreling towards the thickest part of the brawl. Kenshin hung back for a moment, then pulled his sword from his belt.

He kept it sheathed.

It was too risky, drawing in this crowd. There was the possibility of harming his own men. In battle, he'd always been sent among the enemy without backup or escort, so there was no danger of killing anyone who shared his banner. It wasn't that he didn't trust himself, exactly, but battle and bloodlust could make fools of anyone and even if he did everything right, there was always the chance that someone else would make a critical error.

The men they were fighting bore no crests, he noted clinically. They were trained fighters, and there were a great deal of them – more spilling in from the cross-streets as they fought – and they moved as though they had orders. Yet none of them pressed onwards to the manor proper, almost as if –

"Sano!" he shouted, realizing what was happening. "It's a distraction!"

Sano whipped his head around, nodded, then picked up a large thug and threw him bodily into the manor wall. The scrum parted and Kenshin darted down the opening and over the manor walls, racing for the inner quarters and praying that he wasn't too late.

He was.

As with Sir Narita, there was no sign of a disturbance. Only Sir Yoida's body and the pool of blood seeping from his neck to stain the papers he'd been holding in his hand, the papers that had scattered when he'd toppled to the floor. His legs were still bent; he'd been kneeling at his desk when it happened. No resistance.

Kenshin put his sword away, fingers numb. So. He'd failed.

"Dear!" A woman's voice in the hallway, high and frightened. Sir Yoida's wife, he realized. And he was consumed, suddenly, by one thought: that he couldn't let her see. "Dear, are you alright? Answer me!"

He turned and put out one arm, blocking her way in and hopefully her view of the crime.

"Madame Yoida," he said, as carefully as he could. "Please, m'am, one is certain he would not want you to see – "

Madame Yoida ignored him, panic in her eyes, and pushed past his arm; he pulled her away too late, too late to stop her from seeing, just as he'd been too late to stop her husband's death. She froze in his grip, staring, and fell slowly to her knees.

"…Hayato…" she whispered, her hand covering her mouth. "No. Oh, no…"

"I'm sorry," he said, hating himself for having nothing else to say. "I'm so terribly sorry."

She wrapped her arms around her waist and crumpled, keening. He watched helplessly, his useless hands heavy at his sides.

Sir Yoida's own guards caught up quickly. The chief retainer understood the situation at once and ordered a handful of the guards to escort Madame Yoida away. She went, leaning heavily on her escort, and seemed too old for her years. Kenshin stood quietly to one side as the other guards cleaned the blood from the floor and arranged the body in a more dignified pose. The youngest was sent to alert the corpse-handlers.

Finally the chief retainer bowed deeply to his former master one last time and stood, face still and emotionless as a theatre mask.

"Lord Himura," he said, and his voice was too neutral: like a good samurai, he was hiding what he felt. "Do you require anything?"

Kenshin closed his eyes for a moment. "Were there any probable witnesses?" he asked, dreading the answer.

"No, my lord." The retainer shook his head. "Sir Yoida preferred to keep his private chambers free of guards. Whoever did this penetrated our perimeter without alerting anyone."

"Ah." Kenshin licked his lips, trying to think past the stone in his gut. "Nonetheless, one should wish to question the men on duty tonight. Perhaps there was something…"

He couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence that didn't insult the man's competence.

"Perhaps there was something," he said again, knowing that he was grasping at straws.

"Of course." Nothing in the retainer's face or eyes betrayed what he might be feeling, and Kenshin felt, somehow, that it would be discourteous to read the man's soul at a time like this. "When do you wish to question them, my lord?"

"Tonight, please, if it's at all possible. Before memories fade." He hesitated for a moment, then bowed. "Please – accept one's sympathies for your loss. And my sincere apologies that it was not prevented."

The retainer returned his bow, politely enough. "You are too kind," he said automatically. "If my lord will care to follow me to the usual receiving room, this lowly self will gather the men for questioning."

* * *

The sky was grey with an incipient dawn when Kenshin was done. There had been no witnesses, nor had anyone seen anything useful. The few fighters from the mob who had been captured didn't know anything; they were hired muscle, nothing more, and hired by different people at that.

"My lord," Uramura bowed to him. "Should we put them to torture?"

"Wha – no!" Kenshin almost choked. "Your pardon – that is unnecessary, it is. They are not lying, that they're not. One would _know_," he said firmly. And he wasn't sparing them much – they would still most likely be sent to prison and thence to the execution grounds – but it was all he could do for them.

None of his men were dead, at least. Small mercies: he knew that there were several injuries, one or two of them severe, although he didn't know yet exactly who had been hurt. There hadn't been time to find out, so he'd told Uramura to send for however many doctors were necessary to ensure that the men were properly cared for.

"Lord Himura." Uramura was looking at him. Kenshin blinked at him, then realized that he'd said something.

"Your pardon – again – what did you say?"

"This lowly self only inquired if my lord has any further orders?"

"No…" Kenshin wracked his brain – what was left of it, anyway – trying to think through his bewilderment and the throbbing ache in his left shoulder. He'd never been shot before; it hurt much more than a sword wound, and for some reason he just couldn't ignore it the way he normally did. The pain was slow and dull and insanely _present_; it hadn't been that bad until the melee, but ever since then it had been a constant ache. Maybe he'd torn the stitches.

"No, one doesn't think there's anything left to be done here, that there's not," he said finally. "Send the men home – and yourself as well, one should think. Only, if you could have copies made of the testimonies taken tonight and see that one is given a set, that would be appreciated, that it would."

"Of course, my lord." Uramura bowed and started to leave. Then he hesitated. "My lord…"

"Yes?" Kenshin forced himself to smile politely, fighting back the urge to clutch at his burning shoulder. "Is something amiss, that is?"

"My lord – although it is not my place – my lord's shoulder – " Worry seemed to darken Uramura's eyes. "It does not seem to be healing well."

_You should have a doctor look at it again. Just to be safe._ Lady Kaoru's eyes, blue and clear as midnight as she stood in her doorway, the soft glow of the lantern casting her face into stark relief.

"…so one should," he said softly, remembering it again: the fleeting warmth of her skin, and the scent of jasmine clinging to his fingertips. She'd _laughed_. Something he'd said or done had made her laugh.

He was suddenly exhausted.

"Is the doctor still about?" he asked.

"Yes, my lord."

"Then one will seek his services, before one leaves. That I will."

And then he'd go home, and hope that he wasn't forgetting anything important.

* * *

The house was quiet when Kenshin got home; there was a low light burning in the front hall to welcome him, and a sleeping junior maid. He almost padded by her, to avoid disturbing her sleep, and then remembered that she was supposed to be awake to tend to him when he came home. So he made a soft noise instead and woke her just enough to dismiss her to her proper bed, making a note to inform the head maid that he wouldn't need anyone staying up past their bedtimes when business kept him out till an ungodly hour.

His shoulder was still throbbing. He'd _meant_ to see the doctor, he truly had, only the doctor had been busy with the last of the men and his shoulder had started to feel better so it hadn't seemed worth it to bother him. And he'd wanted to go home. Sir Yoida's manor smelled of death and grieving and it was selfish and cruel, but he'd had enough. He wanted to go home, to where the Lady Kaoru was. Where there were laughing children instead of crying women.

Not his children, certainly; not his laughter. But it was enough, really, to be even just on the edge of her life. More than he'd ever thought to have again. And far more than he deserved.

Sano had declined an invitation to stop over at Kenshin's place, claiming that the excess of wealth gave him the creeps. There had been a cold, brooding sense to him when he said it and Kenshin had raised a polite eyebrow and stared until Sano admitted he was going to follow up some of his own leads.

"I don't trust anything about this," he'd said in a tone that brooked no argument. "I don't trust Hondo and I don't trust his monkey and shit, Kenshin, you can see for yourself how much this damn set-up stinks. So I'm gonna look into some things for ya. Unless that's a problem?"

"It's not," Kenshin had responded, blinking back another wave of exhaustion. "Only – be careful, Sano."

"Oh?" It'd been his turn to raise an eyebrow, then. "You startin' to see what's in front'a you?"

"One hardly knows what you're talking about," he'd said, suppressing a yawn, "not at this hour. But if you're implying that there's something unusual about the situation, one knew that as soon as it became clear that the attack was a distraction…"

"Good." Sano's eyes had glinted hard under his nearly-dried hair. The rain had let up slightly towards the dawn, slowing to a gradual, half-hearted drizzle. "Go home t'the missus, then. An' get someone t'look at that shoulder!"

He'd had to shout that last part, because Kenshin was already on his way.

The Lady Kaoru didn't seem to be awake. He hadn't expected her to be; he trod carefully past her suite on the way to the bathhouse, hoping to steal a towel and dry himself off a bit before he went to bed. He'd send for a doctor when he woke up. The shoulder had made it just fine so far, it would make it for another few hours.

He ran into his wife on the way.

She was dressed in practice clothes and sweat was drying on her brow in the cool morning air. So she hadn't been asleep. She'd been training.

"Good morning, honored wife," he said, ducking his head as he passed and trying not to stare. It was hard, though: seeing her like this made him remember when he'd found her in the practice hall, eyes blazing as she struck again and again. He'd wanted her then; he wanted her now, wanted all of her, even if her fire scorched him beyond bearing. "Excuse me…"

"My lord husband – wait."

He turned to face her, plastering a genial smile on his face. "Yes?"

"Your shoulder." She nodded towards it. "You didn't get it looked at, did you?"

Her voice was too firm, betraying her anxiety, and her eyes slid to one side rather than meet his. Her jaw tensed and her throat worked, as though she was trying to speak and not finding the words.

He started to rub his neck, winced, and thought better of it.

"Well, it was a rather busy night, so it was…"

And then she was suddenly in front of him, staring determinedly at the wound, and her hands were reaching towards him and he pulled back, reflexively, because he could _feel_ her and smell her skin – salt-sweat and fading jasmine – and it was too much. His breath caught.

"Let me see," she said quietly, and he forced himself to stillness as she carefully eased back the cloth of his kimono. He thought, vaguely, that he should be doing that himself; but all he could focus on was the drape of her ponytail down her back and the memory of her heated skin against his fingertips.

She sucked in a frightened breath when she saw the wound. He avoided looking at it, or her, staring fixedly over her head and counting the squares on the shoji.

"Honored husband – "

"It's alright, so it is," he said, backing up and pulling his sleeve up over his shoulder. "It will keep."

"It will _not_," she said sharply, and stared at him for a long moment. Her eyebrows drew down in a look of fierce concentration, but he couldn't begin to guess _why_; he only knew that she was struggling with something, that some resolution was being made behind her bright blue eyes, and that he had no say in whatever she might ultimately decide. Nor should he.

Then she nodded, once, and pointed to the bathhouse.

"Get in there and sit down," she said briskly. "I'll be back in a minute; someone needs to look at that wound right now."

"That's hardly necessary – " he started to object, heartbeat picking up speed, and she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"Don't argue, okay?"

She turned on her heel and marched off. He stared after her, poleaxed. His hand fell slowly from where it had been clutching his shirt and he swallowed hard, pulse throbbing in his temples so harshly that it hurt. Because this was – impossible, an impossible thing, that she would act this way, to _him_, like they were almost friends, as if his health _mattered_ to her –

Impossible. Yes. As impossible as the memory of her laughter, as impossible as his fingers' light touch on her skin.

He went into the bathhouse and settled himself on the bench in the changing room, hardly daring to hope. And for a few minutes, he thought he had been wrong: then he heard her light, careful tread on the steps and his heart leapt into his throat.

She pushed the door open with one hand, carrying a small kit in the other, and knelt on the bench next to him.

"Turn," she ordered. "I need a better look at your shoulder."

He obeyed, completely dazed. She slid his collar down again and he felt cool metal against his skin as she cut through the bandages.

"You have medical training?"

"Some," she said off-handedly, focused on her work. "Enough to get by. Father insisted…"

He winced as she began to peel the cloth away; it was sticking to his skin. She smothered a small cry as it came loose.

"Is it that bad?" he asked, blinking. He didn't smell wound-rot…

"Well, it's not infected," she said, voice carefully even. "But you haven't changed the bandages, have you?"

"…oro…" He had meant to. He distinctly recalled meaning to. But so much had happened… "…no. One's mind was on other things."

"I see," she said grimly, and he studied the wall rather than her face. "This is going to feel a bit strange. Bear with it."

And she began to clear out the bandages that had packed the wound. It _hurt_ – not the worst pain he'd ever felt, but it was a strange kind of pain, a release of pressure that he hadn't realized was there. There was a _splat_ of liquid-heavy cloth on the wooden floor, and then she turned aside and rummaged in her kit. He kept his breathing steady, allowing the pain to become a part of him, simply another obstacle to overcome.

"Don't move," she instructed, giving a small bottle a quick shake. "This might sting a little."

It stung a lot. He didn't move. A few more minutes of poking and prodding and one memorable _scrape_ later and she was done. Then she unwound a long strip of bandages and folded them neatly, preparing to pack and wrap the now-clean wound.

She was gentle; as gentle as she could be given the work she was doing, and he'd had enough wounds treated to know the difference. Her eyes never left her work, even when he finally gathered the courage to look down at her instead of studying the wood grain in the far wall. She looked utterly absorbed in what she was doing, her blue eyes darkened to a shade like the sea at midnight and he thought for one selfish, vertiginous moment that he should kiss her, when she was done; he should take light hold of her elbow as she turned to put the medicines away and thank her, softly, before pressing his lips to hers. That maybe if he did, she would welcome it: she would learn into it, warm and shy, and he would tangle his fingers carefully in her hair.

But it was only a moment before he came to his senses. This kindness – this was enough, that she cared even this much, even if it was only on principle. There was no point in wanting more. He would take what she offered and that was all. It was already more than he was entitled to.

"Thank you," he said when she was done, because he _had_ been raised to have manners. She closed the lid of her kit.

"Go lie down," she said firmly. "You've got bags under your eyes – you need to rest. Don't put any weight on that shoulder. I'll send for a doctor today – and when the maid comes in with your breakfast, you _eat_ it, understand?"

"…yes m'am," he said meekly, entirely chastened under the sheer force of her glare.

"Good." She brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I'd like to take a bath now, if you don't mind."

As he left the bathhouse, he thought he heard her mutter something about instincts and annoying fox-women with too-clever eyes; but he was tired and his shoulder ached with clean, healing pain, so he didn't wonder any more about it.


	7. come slowly, eden

**A/n: I'm alive!**

**First, I'd like to apologize for not getting this out in a timely fashion. I misunderstood the start date for my bar prep course (UW's began on June 3rd. Mine began on May 27th) which meant that I did _not_ have a free week to work on this chapter. Then, I fell really awfully deathly ill; between that and my bar course, I simply could not finish the chapter within the allotted period. **

**The distress evidenced by some of my reviewers made me realize that I have not been very clear in how to keep updated on my progress. In the future, if there is a delay in the promised update, please check either my author profile page or my tumblr at thefullmooninautumn [ d o t ] tumblr [d o t] com. Explanations and revised schedules will be posted there.**

**And just as a reminder, with this chapter, I am officially on a full hiatus from both _Invictus_ and _Vaster Than Empires_. Updates will resume on AUGUST 10th with a new chapter of _Invictus_. See you there!  
**

* * *

Lord Himura was actually sleeping.

Kaoru had half-expected to find him awake and brooding over his calligraphy kit; that seemed to be all he did, when he wasn't occupied with official business. But when she'd passed by his room on her way back from the bathhouse, she had happened to see inside – not that she'd been _looking_, mind you, but he'd left the outside door cracked and her eyes had just passed over it – and seen him sleeping. He slept on his back, slightly sprawled, and he hadn't taken his hair out of its long tail.

One hand was next to his head; the other arm was folded on top of the blanket, resting on his stomach. His head was turned towards his hand and his mouth was a little slack, like any exhausted person finally bullied into taking a rest. There were dark circles under his eyes: she hadn't noticed them when he was awake, but now the stillness of sleep forced them into stark relief.

As before, in the village, he looked startlingly vulnerable.

She had thought, then, that it was a lie. And as she stared at him through the crack in the door, she still couldn't forget his terrible force or the river of blood that had flown in his wake. Neither could she forget the open wound in his shoulder, red and sore with poor treatment, or ignore the tight, weary lines in his sleeping face. It didn't seem that he was actually _resting_; more that he was sleeping simply because his body could no longer stand to stay awake.

She wondered, briefly, what it would be like to be his willing bride: to slide the door open softly and tuck the blanket close around him, kiss his brow and smile lovingly as her mother had for her father a thousand times before. As she had daydreamed about doing for her husband, for the man she couldn't quite envision but knew she would find one day, a man who would love and honor her, and rule beside her as an equal. A man she would choose.

_If you were fated for anything else, you would have been born a man_.

Kaoru turned away, mouth twisting downward, and went to dress for the day.

* * *

She had just finished her breakfast when Tsubame informed her that Sir Uramura was waiting to see Lord Himura.

"I told him that Lord Himura was not to be disturbed, as you'd ordered…" Tsubame was a junior maid, very new to her tasks, and rather timid. She wrung her hands nervously as she spoke. "But he said it was urgent… so I thought I should come to you..."

"That was exactly right." Kaoru smiled encouragingly. "I'll go see him now."

"Yes, my lady." Tsubame bobbed her head and began to gather up the dishes as Kaoru stood, glad that she had chosen a more formal outfit for the day. She'd known Sir Uramura since childhood, but she hadn't seen him much lately. He'd offered his condolences on her loss and his congratulations on her wedding day, and those were all the words they'd spoken since her father's death. Which wasn't his fault; the transition was taking time, and they hadn't exactly been close. The former chief retainer had followed her father into death, and Sir Uramura – his right-hand man – had been put forward as the natural candidate. Lord Himura had accepted him easily, and she'd thought at the time that there was some deep strategy behind it, that it was some sort of test of the new province's loyalty. Now, she suspected that it was simply that he was reluctant to make his mark on anything, even his own staff.

Sir Uramura was standing in the entranceway, looking deeply uncomfortable. He hadn't even taken off his shoes. Rain clung to his hair, and a wet umbrella leaned against the wall nearby. He bowed when he saw her, stiffly

"My lady!" he half-barked in that strange way he had.

"Good morning, Sir Uramura."

"The humble person deeply regrets the necessity of the interruption, worthy lady. However, there are certain documents that were requested by your honorable husband…"

"Well, give them here," she said, holding out her hand. "I'll see that he gets them."

Sir Uramura made a slightly strangled sound and Kaoru stifled a sigh.

"He won't mind," she said, a little more harshly than she'd meant to. "And Sir Muraki used to deliver papers to Mother or myself for Father all the time, so you know I can be trusted with them."

He colored slightly. "This humble person did not mean to imply – "

She waved it off. "It doesn't matter. But Lord Himura needs to rest right now. His shoulder's in a very bad way. So if you'll just give me the papers, I'll make sure everything gets where it needs to go, alright?"

Sir Uramura paused for a moment. Then he held out a sheaf of papers, wrapped in oilskin to protect them from the rain and marked with his personal seal. She took it, tucking the package under her arm.

"His shoulder, my lady?"

"Yes," she said. "It's not critical, but he needs to have a doctor look at it again today. I've sent for one."

"I see." Sir Uramura, like his predecessor, was a very reserved man; the trivial rise of color in his face when she'd good as accused him of thinking her untrustworthy was as expressive as he ever got. But it seemed to her that his blush deepened ever-so-slightly as he said the next words. "Please express to him my sincere wish for his speedy recovery. I am certain that the rest of the men join me in this prayer."

"Are you?" The question – like so many of her questions, these days – came out edged, and not quite the way she'd meant it.

Sir Uramura hesitated, then nodded.

"Yes," he said simply. "I am certain. Good day, my lady."

He bowed and left. Kaoru exhaled softly, not quite sighing, and headed for her husband's office. It was attached to his bedroom, and her heart beat a little faster as she slid the door open as silently as she could, both to avoid disturbing him and in deference to her own vague sense of trespassing. He was, after all, essentially a stranger: this was his territory, not hers. And it probably would have made more sense to hold on to the papers and give them to Lord Himura when he woke up, except…

_Except I'm curious_, she finally admitted to herself. She had made the choice to spare his life, to trust her instincts – as the Lady Takani has said – and her instincts wanted to know more about the man she was bound to. The man she'd chosen, at least for now.

His office was as neat and contained as the rest of him. A small desk sat facing one of the walls, piled high with enough papers that some of them had migrated to the floor next to it. Each stack was carefully weighted down with a stone. There was a small writing-kit, not the elaborate artistic set that seemed to have some special meaning to him but a simple set of workman's tools, well-kept and well-used.

There was a screen behind the desk, and a small alcove with an ink painting and a spray of seasonal blossoms beneath. Other than that, there was nothing – no books, no oddments or curiosities. Her father's office had been a messy jumble of ideas and half-complete experiments, a treasure trove for an inquisitive child. There had always been _something_ going on in that welcoming tangle, usually something that was going to make Mother and Tae shake their heads and sigh. Lord Himura's office, by contrast, was practically desolate. Almost sad, really, like a room in a house that had suffered a tragedy; a place that had held life, once, and lost it. Abandoned and empty.

She shook her head slightly and padded over to the desk, planning to put the package down and leave. The topmost pile of papers, however, caught her eye, and she could have ignored it and turned away but she didn't. Instead, she knelt at the desk, picked it up, and started to read.

It was a petition from Sir Fujita, about the damn rice field his family and the Kobayashi had been squabbling over since Grandfather's time. That meant that there was probably another petition from Sir Kobayashi in the pile. Lord Himura hadn't found that one yet, judging by the confused note he'd made in the margin. At least, she _thought_ it was a confused note: it might have been a doodle. Insofar as she could decipher the shaky chicken-scratch that passed for his handwriting, it seemed that no one had told him about the feud, and he wasn't sure why Sir Fujita was practically threatening rebellion over a rice field.

Kaoru smiled a little and set it aside, digging through the piles to find Sir Kobayashi's petition. She'd just set it on top of Sir Fujita's and be on her way. That should be all he'd need to realize that the situation wasn't nearly as urgent as the two claimants made it sound.

The paperwork was dreadfully organized. He didn't seem to understand what most of it was for; he'd tried to get things organized by topic but not realized what was important to the topic and what was purely routine. And – oh dear, he'd transposed two sheets of the yearly accounts record, no _wonder_ his notes on it were so bewildered. She slid them back into their proper place in passing and kept going.

It was easy to fall back into the old rhythms. She'd helped her father with this, and her mother with the household accounts; one was very like the other, only greater in scale. It wasn't the most interesting work, but it _was_ necessary, and that made it worthwhile.

Time moved quickly as she buried herself in the job in front of her, and she didn't surface again until a soft knock on the office door startled her out of her reverie. Kaoru looked up, blinking, and automatically tapped her newest pile into order.

"Yes?"

"My lady?" It sounded like Tsubame again. "There's another visitor, but Lord Himura isn't awake yet, and…"

"Who is it?"

"Um…" Her voice, already small, grew even smaller. "It's Sir Sanosuke, my lady, Lord Himura's… Lord Himura's friend…"

"I see." Kaoru put the stack down carefully and went to the door. "Well, I'll go find out what he wants."

Sir Sanosuke was a tall man, broad-shouldered and lean, with an unruly mop of dark hair and dressed like a wandering martial artist. He grinned as he saw her, kicking off his shoes with an irreverent bow. Rain dripped down his face and he wiped it away, flicking his fingers casually. The drops splattered against the wall.

"Hey there, missy."

"Good morning, sir," she said carefully, not sure what to make of him. "I'm sorry, but Lord Himura isn't available right now."

"That's what the little miss told me," he said, jerking his thumb at Tsubame. The junior maid squeaked and ducked her head, hurrying off on some probably-invented errand. "But this is kinda important, so…"

"What is it about?"

He cocked his head at her, leaning back on his heels with his thumbs tucked idly in his waistband.

"Why d'you wanna know?"

There was a challenge in his voice. Kaoru bit back a retort

"Lord Himura was badly injured ten days ago," she said, keeping her voice cool. "His wound is acting up and needs to be tended. He's resting, and he shouldn't see anyone unless it's urgent."

"And you get to decide what's urgent." It wasn't exactly a question, and it wasn't quite a statement: his gaze was suddenly wary, like he'd looked down and seen that he was about to tread on a snake.

Kaoru started to respond, then stopped. She hadn't intended to take this much responsibility – and yet here she was, taking responsibility. Helping with his duties, making sure he was undisturbed when he needed rest – she'd probably be fretting over how much he ate, next, just like Mother had with Father –

_You should trust your instincts_. Lady Takani's voice echoed through her memory, soft and wistful. She'd felt his eyes on her in the bathhouse as she changed his bandages and cleaned his wounds, and the hunger had been there but there had been something else, too. Something small and humble and shy – and if she was honest with herself, it had always been there, even on their wedding night, when he'd bowed to her and begged for her patience in the days to come.

"Yes," she finally, raising her chin. "I do. I _am_ his wife, you know."

He raised an eyebrow, mouth twisting in an approving sort of smirk.

"Seems you are," he said contemplatively. "So I guess I oughta tell you what's going on, huh? You gonna invite me in?"

She gestured to the interior of the house.

"Please, Sir Sanosuke. Come in."

"Just Sano, missy," he said cheerfully, following her inside. "Titles give me hives."

* * *

Kaoru knew that the shōgun had assigned Lord Himura to some important investigation; he'd told her as much during one of their too-polite dinner conversations. She hadn't known the details, though, and Sano was more than happy to fill her in.

"…so there y'have it, missy," he finished, tossing back the dregs of his tea. "Now, I don't pretend that's all t' the story, but it's all I know and it's damn sure enough t'make me suspicious."

"It does sound strange…" Kaoru said noncommittally. Under her calm façade, though, he heart was racing. The inference was obvious – given the facts surrounding their deaths, her husband was the only man swift and skilled enough to have killed Sir Narita and Sir Yoida. Except that it didn't make any sense: aside from not fitting with what she knew of his character, why would he strike in such a way against his liege lord? There were far easier ways to stage a coup.

And if he didn't solve the murders in time, or at least find an acceptable scapegoat, and was accused… the wife and family of a criminal shared their fate, under Lord Tokugawa's laws. Exile, at the very_ least_.

"You said that you were looking into in on your own?" she continued, trying for innocence. Sano nodded.

"Yeah. The hired muscle didn't know much but I recognized some of 'em. Went t'the usual hangouts an' asked around. Got some leads on who was doin' the hiring, but…"

His eyes darkened, hesitant, and he gave her another long, assessing look.

"But?" she prompted, refusing to rise to the bait and wondering what it was about Lord Himura that inspired so much loyalty – and why, despite that, he was still held in such fear.

"…but I did catch wind of somethin' pretty disturbing," he said at last. "Somethin' I figured Kenshin oughta hear about sooner rather'n later."

It took her a moment to realize who he was talking about. He was always _Lord Himura_ or _my husband_ or sometimes _the shōgun's demon _in her thoughts, never Kenshin, and she'd nearly forgotten that he had a given name. It was strange to hear, sharp and soft all at once, and she suddenly wanted to know what characters it was written with. There were so many possibilities: devotion, modesty, truth, sword, heart…

"And you don't want to tell me," she said calmly, studying the teapot to avoid looking at his face. She couldn't exactly blame him; she was, after all, the captive bride. And if he assumed that she had no particular loyalty to her husband, that her allegiance was grudgingly given – well, he'd be right. "I see. But he really does need to rest."

"Yeah, he does." Kaoru looked up in surprise. Sano shrugged, grinning ruefully. "Hey, I saw him last night. Man never did know when to quit. How bad is it?"

"Well, he's not going to die." She coughed a little. "Does he – does he do this kind of thing a lot, then?"

"You mean, try t'work himself to death? All the time." He snorted, looking away towards the courtyard garden. The rains were lighter today, barely more than a gentle drizzle. "Doesn't know how t'let anything go, that's his problem," he continued, soft as the mists outside. "Still blames himself an' it's been ten damn years…"

"I'm sorry?" There was something very thoughtful in his manner despite his distracted air, as if he was choosing his words deliberately to achieve some desired effect.

"Well, y'know about his first wife, right?" His eyes slid towards her, gleaming.

"I know that she died," Kaoru said calmly, pouring herself a cup of tea.

"Y'heard the rumours, though?"

"I'm not sure this is an appropriate conversation for a first meeting," she said delicately, sitting on her temper. What on earth did he think he was doing? Was he trying to frighten her, or make some kind of threat? Was this a test?

"I dunno, missy," he said, too casually, and stretched his arms over his head. "I mean, y'_are_ married to the shōgun's demon. Ain'tcha just a little bit curious?"

Oh, this was definitely a test. She flashed him a cool, tight smile.

"If my honored husband wanted me to know," she said sweetly, "I'm sure that he would tell me."

Sano leaned in suddenly, almost closer than courtesy would allow.

"D'you actually mean that?" he said, very quietly. All playfulness was gone from his face, now; his eyes were very dark, and under other circumstances she might have thought he _was_ trying to frighten her, after all. "Or are y'just too scared t'go lookin' for the answer?"

_Trust your instincts_.

"That depends," she said, biting uncertainly at her lower lip. "Are the rumours true?"

Sano rubbed at his chin idly, blowing out a breath, and seemed to be thinking.

"_He'd_ say they were," he said finally. "Yeah. He'd tell ya that he killed her."

"And you'd say…?" She wasn't holding her breath, but it felt as if she was: as if the whole world was waiting to exhale.

"…I'd say different," he said, with a firm nod.

"Well. In that case," and she took a small sip of her tea, heart pounding hard and slow in her throat. "It really does sound like something he ought to tell me himself."

And to her surprise, she meant it.

Sano looked at her for a long moment, then snorted, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah. Lemme know when he gets around to it. I'll probably have t'fill you in on the details… but anyway, about that thing I found out. Can y'let him know that I've got news for him when he's up an' about again?"

"I will." Kaoru nodded. "Although I don't know when that will be."

"Sooner'n you think," Sano said, with a long-suffering sigh. "He hates stayin' in bed, says it makes 'im feel useless." He stood, brushing off his pants. "I'll be heading out, then."

"Why don't you wait around, if you think he'll be up so soon?"

He favored her with a sardonic look as he went to the door. "An' scare the maids? Nah, missy. Too rich for my blood 'round these parts – bein' this close to the shōgun gives me the creeps. Send word to the Lotus Blossom when y'want me, Kenshin knows where it is. And – "

He hesitated again, fingers curling around the screen.

"…take care of him, will ya?" he said finally. "I know ya ain't got a lotta reasons t'like him, but y'gotta know by now that he's a good guy. He'll do right by ya, if y'let 'im."

"I know," she said quietly, not certain what was showing in her eyes. How could she be, when she didn't understand her own feelings? Lord Himura was kind, and gentle, and terribly dangerous: a demon and a good man, and that should have been impossible but it was nonetheless true.

Sano held her gaze a moment longer, nodded, and was gone.

* * *

She went back to the paperwork after Sanosuke left, unwilling to leave a job half-done even if she was infringing without permission on a man's domain. Although he hadn't seemed bothered by her sword-training… but that was different, of course. A samurai woman had to be able to defend herself, after all. True, she should more properly be trained with dagger and glaive – a sword is a _man's_ weapon – but it wasn't that unusual. Ginchiyo Tachibana had fought with every weapon a man did and no one held her in anything but a heroine's esteem.

It wasn't as if administration was totally outside a woman's realm of influence, anyway. She already ran the household, and she could argue that it was really just a temporary extension of that authority, ensuring that her lord husband didn't fall too far behind in _his_ duties while he was recuperating. That was what a wife was for, wasn't it? To stand behind her husband, supporting him, ensuring that his every desire was met so that he need never worry about anything other than serving his liege.

_Well done,_ she thought, frowning and staring down at a requisitions form without reading it. _I'm even thinking like a dutiful wife_.

Because none of those reasons were the real one. The real one was that this was her _birthright_, what she had been trained and groomed for: to lead as an equal at her husband's side. A husband she would choose, who would truly love her. That was what Father had promised. He'd raised her as he would have raised his firstborn son, with the understanding that one day she would step into his place, and it wouldn't matter that she'd have to do it under the veil of her husband's authority because she would never have to marry for convenience or political alliance. He had _sworn_ to Mother; she knew the story by heart. She would marry a man she loved and of her own choosing, who would not seek to rule her.

So much for that.

But_ someone_ had to make sure that her people were looked after. And she could tell by Lord Himura's notes that he was trying, but it was equally clear that he really didn't know what he was doing. And it wasn't that she was entirely convinced of Lord Himura's kindness herself, but these were her people and she couldn't just stand aside. Not after what she'd already done – not after the bandits, and the order she'd had to give.

And truth be told, she wanted Lord Himura to find her here. She wanted to know what he would do when he did. He wouldn't hurt her, not physically – she was certain of that – but she knew too well by now that you didn't need to strike a person down to do them harm.

So she settled in behind his desk and worked, waiting with an anxious heart for the soft scuff of noise from his bedroom.

It came sooner than she'd thought it would. Her throat went dry and her heart raced, blood throbbing quick and hot through her veins. She kept working automatically, determined to pretend that she hadn't heard – to let him catch her. The door between his bedroom and the office slid open.

"…honored wife?"

His voice was rough with tired surprise and she caught her breath quickly before she raised her head to meet his eyes. They were soft with sleep, still hooded and bluer than usual. The tie in his hair had slid down and loosened so that the strands framed his face differently, softening it. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, yawning, and she saw the flex of his chest through the gape in his half-tied robe; then his eyes widened and he pulled the cloth quickly closed, retying the belt. She thought she saw a faint blush spread across his cheeks, under his eyes, or maybe he was still groggy.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked, stifling another yawn.

"No, honored husband," she said, looking down at the desk and busying herself with the paperwork again. Her heart pulsed in her throat. "I just thought – well, Sir Uramura came by with some documents for you – " she gestured to the package, sitting innocuously on a corner of the desktop. " – and when I came in to put them on your desk I saw that things were a bit – disorganized, so I thought – "

"Ah." His face lit up, eyes deepening to a royal blue. "The guard testimonies."

"Guard testimonies – ?" She made the connection. "From Sir Yoida's estate?"

"Yes, one asked Sir Uramura to have copies made as soon as possible…" He padded towards the desk and knelt on the opposite side, reaching for the package and opening it without checking the seal. Then he looked up at her, startled. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh…" A blush rose in her face, unbidden. "Um. Sir Sanosuke stopped by to ask me to tell you that he had some information you needed to hear as soon as you were awake. He sort of – he filled me in."

Lord Himura nodded. "Ah. Well, it'll be public knowledge before long, that it will. So you've met Sano, have you?"

"Yes. He's…" She hesitated, not certain what to say, how much was too much. The rain tapped gently across the roof, gathering in the gutters to drip down onto the porch in a ragged song. "He's interesting."

"Did you like him?" He was looking at her from under his bangs, almost shyly, and she was struck by the sudden sense that he really cared. That what she thought of his friend mattered to him.

"I don't really know," she said, honestly enough. "We only spoke for a little while, and mostly about the investigation. But he seems alright," she added quickly, "Kind of a bad mouth, I guess, but that's not a crime or anything."

He laughed: a small laugh, little more than a shake of his shoulders, but she'd never seen him laugh before – hadn't known that he _could_ – and the smile on his face was clean and real and inexpressibly fond. _They are friends, after all_, she thought, and realized that she hadn't been sure.

"That's true, so it is. But one could not ask for a truer friend, that I could not."

"That's good." She finished another stack and began to stand, reluctant to push her luck. "I suppose I should leave you to your work, then. Honored husband."

"Wait a moment, please." Kaoru froze and glanced at him. He was looking away from her, staring at the newly-organized paperwork with his mouth quirking in a bemused smile. "If it's not too much trouble, perhaps you could… one doesn't wish to impose, but – "

"Yes, honored husband?" she forced out through dry lips, not certain what she was more afraid of: that he would ask her, calmly, politely – always politely, he would never hurt her, she knew that now – to never presume to interfere in his affairs again, as would be his right… or that he wouldn't. Because some part of her, small but so much more _certain_ than the rest, thought that perhaps there was a chance he would welcome her. And that frightened her down to her bones, that he might want her here, beside him. As an equal.

Just as she'd always known her husband would.

Lord Himura coughed, and there was definite color in his face. "Ah, you mentioned that the paperwork seemed – disorganized, so you did. One had thought – one believed that things were quite in order, that I did. If you could, perhaps, explain a little of what you've done, one would be grateful. That I most certainly would."

His eyes when he met hers were clear as the sunset sky. And she looked as hard as she could for any sign of mockery or resentment, any hint that things were other than what they appeared to be, but there was nothing to find.

He really was asking for her help.

She sank back down behind the desk, slowly, not taking her eyes off him. His brow drew down, worried.

"It's not an _order_, that it's not," he said, hurriedly, "One would not presume – if there's aught else you must attend to then please, pay it no mind – it's only that one wasn't trained for this, that I wasn't, one was trained as a warrior first, and if there is any guidance you might have to share…"

He was still holding the packet Uramura had delivered in front of him, like a shield or an offering, and he smiled a little nervously.

"It would be most kind of you, if you have the time, that it would," he finished, and his fingers drummed once against the oilskin-covered package.

"I – well, yes. Of course. Honored husband." Her blood was singing free, not sluggish and aching in her veins, muscles tense with _what might be_ – because she knew, now, what _was_.

"Let's see," she said vaguely, unable to stop the slow deepening of heat and color in her cheeks. "Well, I suppose – what _do_ you know? I mean, what were you trying to do, setting things up the way you had?"

His throat worked. Then he gestured to the space beside her, behind the desk.

"May I?" he asked softly, and her heart fluttered. "It seems it might be easier, if we're on the same side, so it might…" His voice trailed off and he _was_ blushing now, ducking his head and looking up shyly to meet her eyes. "To understand – that is, for me to understand your explanation – one means to say."

He had only stumbled like this once before, in Hito, when he'd offered to let her stay behind. And he'd meant it then, too – that unprecedented offer, to give her back her home. Not because he was displeased, but for the sake of her smile…

_One never saw you smile, in Edo_, he'd said, looking at her like his heart was breaking. _It seems you only smile when you are here_.

Her back straightened, and she pushed her bangs out of her face with a sudden pained breath, feeling as though something had fallen off her back.

"Of course," she said, the words coming only half-bidden. "Come over here, and I'll show you."

He shuffled around the desk with another soft, shy smile until he was sitting almost at her side. They were still a few inches apart but she could _feel_ his nearness and it set her on edge, except it wasn't exactly the same as it had been. Something had shifted, in her, in him, in the space between.

"Here," she said, gesturing to the desk. "You were sorting by – well, you seemed to have the general idea, sorting by type, but you were being too specific." She touched each pile in turn and he followed her movements, eyes narrowed in concentration. "You want to start with just a few broad categories, and then separate each category into what you've dealt with and what still needs to be done, instead of muddling it all together like you've been doing."

"Ah." He picked up a stack of requisition forms. "These are all the same?"

She blinked. "Well – yes. They're just requisitions, see?"

"…they don't look the same." His eyes slid away from her, blush deepening.

"No, they don't. Father's been trying to standardize things but people are stubborn…" She grabbed the first sheet on the pile. "But if you just skim them, you'll see they're basically the same thing. And eventually you get used to the different styles. So we have requisition and tax forms, and you want to put those near each other when you're working because they're related to each other. Father always sorted alphabetically – I don't know how you'd prefer to sort them…"

The rest of the morning passed this way. Lord Himura learned quickly, which was good, because he really _hadn't_ been trained for administrative work. She realized fairly quickly that this wasn't a case of a neglected foundation but a genuine lack of any formal training, like a child who tries to learn swordsmanship by watching. Instinct and observation can only go so far; after a certain point, even the brightest person needs to be taught. And no one had ever taught him.

It made her wonder why. Even a third son should have been taught the basics, but the only thing he seemed to really know was swordsmanship. The rest – from what she could see, anyway – was piecemeal. And his handwriting really was dreadful. He wasn't slow-witted, so why had he been so poorly educated? Especially for a man of his presumed station… alright, so he hadn't been born to a high clan, but that shouldn't have mattered. A minor clan was still nobility, after all.

It was… nice, sitting with him, teaching him as she'd been taught. He listened to her, asked questions when he didn't understand, and there was none of the subtle resentment she'd sometimes felt from her father's men when they came to his office and found her and her mother working. They'd never say anything, of course, but she could hear their disapproval in what they carefully didn't say, could see it in how their eyes slid over her as if she were only a decorative screen. It wasn't proper, women sitting in on men's affairs.

But that didn't seem to matter to Lord Himura any more than her swordsmanship had.

Eventually there was a soft noise from the hallway and they looked up almost in unison to see O-tsuki kneeling outside the office.

"Forgive the interruption, my lord. My lady. But the doctor's arrived."

"The doctor?" Her husband glanced over at her.

"I asked him to come later in the morning," she said. "I thought you'd be asleep for longer. You still need to have that shoulder looked at properly."

"…that's so, it is." He was still looking at her, and his eyes were as yearning as ever; yet there was that softness there that she'd never seen before.

"We can continue in the evening, if you'd like." Her heartbeat picked up again and she swallowed, not quite able to meet his eyes. But it seemed natural to offer – and it wasn't as if she could turn away. He couldn't keep going as he had; things were already falling behind, which would have consequences for the welfare of the province and it didn't seem as if anyone had had the courage to intervene before now. "You should see the doctor and rest a bit more first, though. Or you won't heal quickly."

"Ah, you think so?" He stood, adjusting his robe. "Then one will do as you say, honored wife."

He smiled as he spoke, real and warm and innocent as a child's, and the corners of his eyes crinkled with the force of it. She didn't quite return it, not intentionally, but she felt her mouth curve a little around the edges as she nodded.

"I'll see you in the evening, then." She smoothed out the last stack they'd been going over. "I should check in on Ayame and Suzume, anyway – Tae probably had to take over their lessons for the morning, and she has her own duties."

"This evening, then." He nodded, still smiling, and bowed slightly. "Thank you, honored wife, for teaching me."

It shot through her like lightning – _he asked for my help. He thanked me for it_ – and she responded without thinking.

"Thank you," she said, and blushed fully at the shock in his face. "For listening."

* * *

The stables were warm and smelled of horse; outside the rain was coming down in sheets, but none of the cold could penetrate its sturdy walls. Stables were, in Kenshin's experience, universally calm places. They had to be, given that horses could be such nervous creatures. Even the best-trained warhorses had off days.

Not that his old grey mare was a warhorse. He did his best fighting on foot, so really her only purpose was transportation. Palanquins discomfited him on some deep, unspoken level: something about the confinement, the reduced field of vision, the whole _being carried_ thing. Like he needed anything else in his life that he couldn't really control. At least if the horse spooked he could dismount safely with a minimum of fuss.

"Not that you startle easily, that you don't," he said softly, lifting the latch on her stall. She whickered, already turning in anticipation of the treat he had secreted away in his sleeve. He smiled ruefully as she sniffed at his arm, her nostrils flaring as she caught the scent of the ripe pear he'd brought her. At least he could meet one creature's needs.

"Patience," he rebuked her gently, fishing out the fruit and a small knife to carve it with. "It's a virtue, you know."

She huffed and pawed at the ground, fixing him with an imperious stare. A laugh escaped him and the knot in his chest eased, just a little. Enough to get by on.

The doctor had been very, very upset, and expressed that distress in only the mildest and most deferential of terms. Nonetheless, he'd made it clear that Kenshin had been extremely foolish, and if not for the Lady Kaoru's intervention the situation could have become very bad. Kenshin had protested in vain that he had no experience with bullet wounds, and when the doctor had asked ever-so-politely if he'd been given instructions for proper care Kenshin had been forced to admit that he had, and that he had chosen to disregard them.

"…of course, he could hardly call me a fool, but that didn't matter," he muttered, feeding slices of pear to his horse. "One could quite tell that he was thinking it, that I could."

After the shoulder had been seen to the doctor had coughed, nervously, and delicately inquired after the health of his wife. Kenshin had started, twitching away, and the doctor had flinched.

"Forgive me, my lord," he'd said nervously. "But your lowly servant has been asked by our liege, the shōgun, to ensure that things are progressing smoothly between yourself and the lady, and so I am duty-bound to inquire if there is any small way in which I might be of service, to her or to yourself."

"Oro!" It had taken him by surprise, at first; then he'd had to bite back a surge of anger at Lord Tokugawa's interference. "That is, please inform my lord that matters progress as well as can be expected, that they do."

"Of course, my lord." The doctor had bowed, low and anxious. "Your servant is enjoined also to remind you of the importance of a successful union in this matter, and the shōgun's personal anticipation of the birth of your first son."

"One is," Kenshin had said, wrestling down his irritation, "very aware. Of both issues. That I am."

The doctor had looked up, seen his eyes, and beaten a hasty retreat.

"Although it was hardly his fault, that it wasn't." Kenshin informed the disinterested mare, looping one end of her lead around the post. "One simply – does not wish to think on the matter – but it seems it cannot be avoided much longer. Still, one should have shown more patience."

The horse swung her head around to nudge gently at Kenshin's shoulder, ears swiveling in anticipation. The stables had their own staff, of course, and technically he didn't need to come here and spend time with her, but he rather thought that she enjoyed the attention. At the very least she didn't seem to_ object _to his company, not as long as there was a snack involved. And there were few enough creatures in the world that were only ever glad to see him, even if it was mostly the treats that she looked forward to.

She huffed into his shirt, as if responding to his thoughts and presented him with her withers. He scratched them dutifully and reached for the curry-comb, sighing.

So. Lord Tokugawa was beginning to suspect that he was shirking his marital duties. Well, it wasn't a total surprise. Children were the entire point of the union, after all, the proper seal on the alliance. He'd known that when accepted the marriage, but he'd thought – but he hadn't thought, not really, not when there was no real possibility of refusing the match. And now what was he going to do? She would never – and he'd never ask of it her – even if she consented it would only be out of duty and –

The mare snorted, disturbed by the cessation of the comb's gentle scratching and the sudden closeness of her rider. Kenshin rested his forehead carefully on her shoulder, trying to catch his breath as he sorted through too many possibilities, all of them bad. He closed his eyes, breathing in the warm, close smell of the stables: horse and straw and wood shavings.

Lord Tokugawa had always seemed to have a certain personal fondness for him; he'd certainly granted him more leeway than he did most of his vassals, justifying it as giving genius its due, or something along those lines. But Kenshin had served him long enough to know when he could not be pushed, and in a matter such as this – something of importance to the future of the nation – he would never yield. He had already given Kenshin a way out with the offer to divorce them, and Kenshin had refused it.

He should have accepted the divorce. He should have let her go when there was still time, before he'd learned how deep her courage ran, before he'd truly come to know her passion and her quick mind and the way her eyes glowed when she smiled. But he hadn't. He'd hoped, despite all reason –

"What was I _thinking?_" he asked, slightly muffled by the horse's bulk. The thin hairs coating her neck rubbed rough against his skin. "You weren't, Himura, you damn fool," he answered himself, hearing his master's voice. "You never do. What will it take for you to _learn?_"

He didn't want to lose her. He'd bandied about such words – about her honor, and her valor – but the truth was that he'd started to fall in love with her the moment he'd seen her emerge from the shadowy door to join her bridal procession. She'd paused there, drawing her shoulders back and her head high, distorting the lines of her wedding dress and his heart had skipped a beat at the courage and the outrage in her bright blue eyes. By the time she'd come to their bridal bed, fierce and proud and wreathed in soft, sweet-smelling steam, he'd had no resistance left to offer.

And it wasn't as though she completely hated him, not anymore. They had sat so close only a few hours ago, near enough that he could feel her warmth, and he'd been very aware of the thin layer of cloth covering him. She'd let him cross the gap – he'd dared to ask and she'd said yes, invited him to join her and talked freely with him about something that mattered to her. And he'd _felt_ some part of the wall between them crumble, known that he'd taken another step towards her brightness.

"I shouldn't have asked," he murmured, scratching the mare's withers soothingly when she pawed, restless and discomfited by his distress. "It wasn't my intent to – I _wasn't_ trained to administrate, I _do_ need help – but I should have stopped before – "

Oh, but he wouldn't trade those few hours with her for anything. The first natural exchange they'd ever had – he wouldn't want to lose that, or the way her eyes had glowed soft and vulnerable when she'd said _thank you for listening_. She'd even corrected him, once, and didn't even seem to notice what she'd done. As if he was any other man. And she'd smiled; smiled and offered to sit with him again.

"Selfish, Himura," he said through a thickening throat. "Selfish, and a fool."

There was a noise behind him and Kenshin turned to see a young boy standing in the aisle, a bucket of feed in his hands and shock in his eyes. He wore a stable boy's uniform.

"Your pardon," Kenshin said, starting to bow in apology and catching himself. Lords didn't bow to stable boys; any attempt to do so would doubtless set off another maddening chain of bows. "Is it feeding time already?"

"Uh…" The boy swallowed, his grip on the handle tightening. "Mr. Sato's worried that she's getting colicky, so I'm supposed to give her some special feed."

"Colic?" Kenshin laid a hand against the mare's stomach, alarmed. "She seemed fine yesterday, that she did."

"Yeah, but she was restless all last night." The boy was eyeing him warily, a certain hostility in his gaze. Kenshin couldn't stop a sigh from escaping.

"Well, one doesn't wish to second-guess the stablemaster, that I don't," he said, patting the mare's neck as he stepped out into the aisle. She shook his hand off and looked over her shoulder at him, clearly vexed by the interruption.

"Your pardon as well," he said with a certain humor, sketching a bow towards his horse. "One will resume one's duties after the youngster's are discharged, that I most certainly will."

She swung her head back around, pointedly ignoring him, and the boy stepped carefully into her stall. He was just the right height for her to lip at his disheveled brown hair, and she began to eye the top of his head with a speculative air as he spread the mixture in her feeding trough.

Kenshin tucked his arms in his sleeves, frowning at her. She looked up, a picture of horsey innocence. He raised an eyebrow and she huffed, dancing delicately in place. The lad twitched away from her, almost flattening himself against the trough.

"There's no need to worry, that there isn't," he said, as gently as he could. "She was only plotting a bit of mischief; one thought you might prefer not to be on the receiving end of it, that I did."

"You sure about that?" the boy asked, edging nervously away. Not that he could blame the lad; the mare was a great deal bigger than he was and it was a very small space.

She ducked her head down to stare at the stable boy, a wicked glint in her eyes. He froze, his hands mere inches from the door.

Then she whinnied and blew snot all down the front of his shirt.

The lad blinked, face slack in shock that faded all too quickly into indignation.

"Why, you – !"

Kenshin quickly interposed himself between boy and horse, carefully pushing the animal back.

"You're being quite rude," he informed her. "He was only doing his job, that he was, there was no need for that."

She tossed her mane, unrepentant, and lowered her muzzle to the feeding trough. Kenshin shook his head and started to pat the boy on the shoulder; then he remembered who he was and pulled his hand away.

"She _is_ restless," he remarked. "Your pardon, child. Between the rain and one's duties, one has quite neglected her needs. Has she been turned out at all recently?"

"Uh." The boy shot him a flustered glance, anger giving way to pure bewilderment as she backed out of the stall. "No. Not since the rain started. It's been coming down too heavy."

"Well, it's not raining too hard today, one doesn't think." Kenshin picked up the currycomb again. "After this, one will take her out for a while. Perhaps that will calm her down. It should help with her digestion, too."

"Sure, m'lord." The lad's voice sounded odd, as though the words fit strangely in his mouth. "Whatever you say."

"Yoshi!"

Kenshin turned, again, as another person came striding down the hall. He only dimly recognized the lean man as Mr. Sato, the stable master, but he certainly recognized the grim look on his face as he zeroed in on the youngster.

"Stop lollygagging, boy! And don't bother your betters. Lord Himura has more to be getting on with than talking to you."

Kenshin raised his hands in a placating gesture, forgetting that he still had the comb on one of them.

"One was not troubled at all. Indeed, it seems one has caused the trouble – one did not intend to keep young Yoshi from his duties, that I did not. The fault is mine."

The boy – Yoshi – stiffened, and Kenshin could hear the words that he didn't say: _I don't need you to look out for me_. So much pride for such a young man, much more suited to a samurai than a laborer.

_We don't choose our destinies_, he thought, and forced a smile at Mr. Sato's agitated apology.

"There is no need to apologize, that there is not. Again, one begs your pardon for the inconvenience."

"As you wish, my lord," Mr. Sato said, bowing low. Then he grabbed Yoshi by the ear and dragged him down the hall. Kenshin winced sympathetically; he knew a thing or two about hard masters.

"Well, then," he said, turning back to his horse. "One supposes a turnout was your aim all along, was it not? There's no need to harass the stable boys when you're vexed at me; one is quite willing to be rebuked on that account."

The mare snorted and kept eating.

* * *

The sky had cleared by the time Kenshin finished grooming his horse and taken her out to one of the larger paddocks. She fairly skipped her way there, clearly glad to be out of the stable and even happier to have gotten her way. He shook his head as he unhooked the lead from her halter, patting her neck.

"Alright, then. Enjoy yourself while the weather's still good, that you should."

He'd barely finished saying it when she cantered off to kick up some mud, promptly coating her fetlocks and undoing all of his hard work. Kenshin smiled and leaned back against the fence, watching her frolic. Would that he could please everyone so easily.

The thought of breaking the fragile peace between the Lady Kaoru and himself was almost too much to bear, but he didn't know how much longer he could avoid the heir issue. A year, perhaps; after that, Lord Tokugawa would want to know why she hadn't conceived. He could blame himself, maybe, claim incapacity – it wasn't as if he was known to seek female company, so who could say otherwise? If he bribed a doctor to say the necessary tests had already been performed…

Lord Tokugawa would send his own physicians, though, and there was little chance of subverting any of them. And he could hardly claim that _she_ was barren, and heap dishonor on her.

"That won't do, not at all," he said aloud, folding his arms in his sleeves. "This situation is no fault of hers."

Perhaps, if he waited, a solution would present itself. Perhaps in a year she'd be more accustomed to him, and see him as a friend; then he could ask what _she_ wished, without fear of duty coercing her to submit.

"Perhaps I might sprout wings and fly to the moon to spend my days pounding mochi," he muttered. "That would solve the problem neatly, that it would."

Kenshin burrowed a little deeper into his coat, curling in around the nervous ache in his gut. His throat was tight, and his teeth wanted to grind. There was anger building in him, had been since the doctor's question, and it felt like sickness. He closed his eyes instead and breathed deep, gathering energy from his core and guiding it to the top of his skull.

_In. Out. Let go._

He could hear his master's stern voice echo across the years, calm and a little chiding.

_Idiot apprentice. Don't say I didn't warn you_.

"You did, master," he murmured as the tension leaked slowly from his body. "That you most certainly did."

But he hadn't listened, and he'd learned afterwards that this was the way of it, always, between the old master and the new: learned it from the letter the old man had left behind. Cold comfort, when his hands were still aching and raw from building the funeral pyre. Then again, his master had never been a sentimental man. That he'd even left a letter for Kenshin to find was more than he'd expected, and proof enough that the he'd cared in his own way.

"It can't be helped," he said, with a final sigh. "There's nothing to be done now, so it would seem."

Except carry on, as he had always done; carry on and pray for the meaning to reveal itself.

He felt the girls before he saw them, the two bright sparks circling a single shy candleflame, and he felt the candleflame gutter when the three of them drew close enough to see him. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then gathered his finest polite smile and turned to greet them.

Ayame and Suzume were escorted by a junior maid today, the same shy girl who'd been forced to stay up and wait for him to come home last night. She bowed deeply when she saw him and kept her eyes fixed on the ground when she straightened. The girls bowed once, as was proper, and waited with wide eyes to see what he would do next.

"Hello, little Ayame. Little Suzume," he said, bowing in return. "What brings you out today?"

There was a long silence. The girls peered out from behind the young maid's skirts, eyeing him warily.

"Auntie Tae said we could go see the horses if we were really good at lessons," Ayame piped out suddenly. "But there's no horses today."

"No horses, no horses!" Suzume echoed, and Kenshin couldn't help truly smiling. The junior maid shushed them both hurriedly, casting an anxious glance at Kenshin.

"M'lord Himura has business to attend to, you mustn't bother him," she said in a low voice. "It's not polite."

"As it happens," Kenshin said, "one's only business just now was in escorting herself to pasture, that it was." He gestured to the mare, who had abandoned the mud to crane her head over the fence and snap at a ripe plum dangling just out of reach. "So there is at least one horse, that there is."

Ayame edged a little closer.

"What's her name?"

"Her name…?" Kenshin blinked. "She doesn't really have one, that she doesn't." That wasn't entirely true; she had a stable-name that the grooms used to keep track of her, but that was all. Warriors didn't name their horses.

Ayame frowned at him, coming almost entirely out from behind the maid's skirts.

"_Everything's_ got a _name_," she said skeptically. "We learned about it. Everything's got a little god so everything's got a name."

Kenshin rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, then it would seem that she hasn't told me hers yet, that she hasn't."

"Have you _asked_ her?" Ayame demanded, hands on her hips and looking so much like her older sister that he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.

"Oro?"

"Ask her, ask her!" Suzume cheered, and Ayame marched over to the fence.

"It's _easy_," she informed him, and leaned over the bottom railing. "Ms. Horse! Ms. Horse!"

The mare snorted, shaking her mane, and trotted over.

"What's your name, Ms. Horse?" Ayame asked as soon as the horse drew up to the fence and cast an equanimous eye over the girls. She favored Kenshin with a deeply sardonic look and he shrugged helplessly, somewhat at a loss. He hadn't spent any real time with the girls – not since Lady Kaoru had interposed herself between him and them that evening in the garden, looking like a tigress ready to defend her young – and he had a vague feeling that he should be leaving now, that she wouldn't want him here.

Then Ayame tugged on his pantsleg.

"Lord brother-in-law?" Her little face was frowning in serious thought. Suzume was engaging in some mysterious toddler game with the railing.

"Yes?"

"I don't think Ms. Horse can hear me, she's too far up." Then she gave him an expectant look, and he had no idea how to refuse her.

So he didn't.

"Alright, alright," he said, kneeling down. "Up we get, then." He hoisted her in the air and sat her on the top rail, where she and the mare were eye-to-eye, and ignored the maid's startled gasp in the background. Ayame reached out to pet the horse's long nose, giggling when she blew out a long gust of horsey-smelling breath. She lipped gently at the little girl's palm, then let herself be petted.

"She's soft!"

"Soft, soft!" Suzume chorused from somewhere around his ankles, and he looked down to see her holding her arms up expectantly. Ayame was balancing expertly on the beam, so he picked up the younger girl, holding her carefully in his good arm to let her pet the horse as well. She gave out a high peal of delighted laughter. The mare pulled her head back, startled, and glared at Kenshin.

"It wasn't me, that it was not," he said innocently. Ayame laughed again. The horse hung her head over the railing and nudged meaningfully at his sleeve.

"There is no more of the pear," he informed her. "One is quite out of treats, that I am."

She gave him a look.

"_Truly_," he insisted. "Perhaps if you tell little Ayame your name, one might fetch those plums down from the tree for you."

The mare did not look impressed. Ayame patted at her cheek and she swung her head back to face the little girl.

"If you don't want to say, I'll make it up!" she said cheerfully. "Let's see… you're grey, and really soft, and you jump at loud noises, so…" She stared hard at the horse, clearly thinking. "…your name is Mouse!" she declared, and Kenshin choked. The mare looked downright affronted.

"Mouse, mouse!" Suzume reached out for the horse's mane, grabbing at the strands with plump fingers.

"What do you think, lord brother-in-law?" Ayame looked eagerly at him, and Kenshin let out a strangled cough.

"One thinks it is a very fine name, that I do," he said firmly, because there was no refusing that bright, flickering joy.

The mare – Mouse – stared at him, betrayal written plain in her eyes. Kenshin gave her a helpless look. She flicked her ears forward and then back, resigned.

"Can we give her plums now?" Ayame asked, all artless innocence. Suzume squirmed in his arms, parroting her sister as she tried to get closer to Mouse.

"Um, Miss Ayame, I don't know…" The maid wrung her hands, blushing. "I'm sure we don't want to bother Lord Himura."

"It's no bother, that it's not," he said mildly, and meant it. He liked children. They took the world as it was, not as reason and education told them it must be. It had been too long since he'd spent time with any, his reputation being what it was; no one wanted to risk irritating him. And it soothed his heart, a little, that the girls didn't seem to fear him, not once they'd overcome the initial shyness.

If they didn't fear him, then perhaps he wasn't something so fearful after all. He wondered, sometimes.

"Can you help me down?" Ayame reached out to him and he started to offer his other arm, then stopped.

"Ah, miss," he said, turning to the maid. "Could you take little Suzume for a moment? One is under strict orders from the doctor and the Lady Kaoru not to strain this arm, that I am."

"Um." The maid peeked out from under her bangs. "Yes, my lord."

Transfer accomplished, he helped Ayame jump down from her perch.

"Let's get the plums now!" she said, tugging at his hand. He wasn't expecting it and stumbled a little trying to keep with her.

"Oro! Alright, alright, there's no hurry…"

"Come on, you're so _slow_!"

"Slow, slow!"

"Miss Ayame! Um, my lord – oh dear!"

Ayame dragged him off. The maid followed, holding Suzume and calling anxiously after them and Kenshin, despite everything, laughed.

* * *

"That's all very well and good, m'lady," Tae said skeptically, "but it still doesn't address the problem of what he is, and what he's done."

Kaoru sighed. "I know. But…"

"But he is kind to you," Tae said, and there was a pitying sort of understanding in her eyes. Kaoru looked away, guilt growing in her chest.

They were walking towards the paddocks, where the girls had insisted on going with Tsubame after their lessons. Ayame was mad for horses, much as Kaoru had been at her age. Tae claimed it was a universal obsession among young girls.

"Yes," she said, resigned to what was coming next. "He's kind to me, and – part of me thinks that's enough." Her voice was nearly a whisper when she finished.

"How large a part?" Tae said, raising an ironic brow. Kaoru didn't respond. Tae shook her head.

"If you truly think it's enough," she continued, gently, "then I suppose I don't have any say in it. It's your life. I can't make you keep fighting when you've lost the will."

Kaoru rounded on her, stung. "And what if it's _not_ a fight?" she snapped. "He wasn't _playing_ with me – he does care about Hito, and its people. He's _trying_ to rule well. And I wasn't the one who lost the war – "

"No," Tae said serenely. "That was your father."

"_It was not_." Her voice snapped loud enough to startle some servants running past on an errand, and she gestured sharply for them to move along. "Father did _not_ lose the war. If the other lords had _listened_ to him, everything would have been – it would have – " She gasped in a breath, wrestling her anger to the ground. "It would have been different."

Tae only watched, waiting for her to finish.

"Anyway," she said, looking away again. "I didn't lose this war. I wasn't even consulted. So why should I keep fighting it, when I could be trying to help my people?"

"That _is_ your uncle talking."

"Uncle only cares about the clan," she said sharply. "This is bigger."

"Province first, family second, self last of all," Tae quoted, and Kaoru's throat thickened to hear her father's words. She nodded, slowly.

"Yes."

And Tae didn't have time to say anything else, because the paddock was within view and it wouldn't do to be arguing about this where her sisters could hear. They were too young still; it was enough that their father was dead without burdening them with the full truth.

Tsubame was standing under a plum tree outside the paddock, a grey horse grazing nearby. She saw them coming and started to run towards them, then stopped, glancing over her shoulder. Then she looked back at them and wrung her hands, and Kaoru's heart dropped into her stomach.

"Tae…"

"Tsubame has a nervous nature," Tae said. "I wouldn't worry." But there was a faint edge of anxiety in her voice, and they both picked up their pace.

"I'm sorry!" Tsubame blurted out as soon as they were within range. "I really am – but the girls – and he didn't seem to mind – he was very patient with them – "

"Who?" Tae stopped to ask. Kaoru continued around the tree and saw what had Tsubame in such a state.

Lord Himura was sprawled out underneath the tree and her sisters were using him as a pillow. Ayame was cuddled against his side and Suzume had nestled in the crook of his good arm. They were asleep, all three of them. The girls were clearly worn out, little more than puddles of sleepy child, and Lord Himura looked – like he was actually resting. There was no tension in his face, no weary crease to his brow or slight frown drawing down his lips. In fact, it almost looked like he was smiling. There was some kind of fruit juice smeared on all their faces, and the tree above looked remarkably devoid of plums for the season.

There were flowers braided in his hair: anemones and daisies and dandelions, and Kaoru put a hand to her mouth to smother a laugh. A few giggles escaped anyway and he stirred, opening his eyes.

"…honored wife." There was that vague surprise again. He always seemed so startled to see her. "Your pardon," he said, nodding at the exhausted girls. "One would rise, but the little ones…"

"Actually, we came to fetch them home," she said, kneeling in the grass beside him. He blinked, confused and sleepy. "It's nearly dinnertime," she explained. "Unless you've spoiled their appetites."

He touched a few fingers to his mouth, feeling the stickiness there, and colored.

"Your pardon, again," he said, smiling guiltily. "But – they are very hard to refuse, that they are."

His eyes met hers: they were a soft, almost lavender shade, gentle as a flowerbed. One of the buttercups was coming loose and starting to dangle down by his ear, and she had the sudden, absurd urge to pick it out of his hair.

"My lord. My lady." Tae bowed to them both, something unreadable in her eyes. "With your permission, Tsubame and I will be taking the girls to bed, now. Since their supper has been spoiled." There was a slight hint of disapproval in her voice.

Lord Himura started. "Ah – yes. Of course. Your pardon, Miss Tae, one lost track of the time."

The girls, however, had other ideas. Sitting up dislodged Ayame, who lodged a sleepy protest and grabbed on to Lord Himura's shirt; attempting to transfer Suzume from his arms to Tae or Tsubame's resulted in a small, angry wail and a tighter grip on his collar.

"Ah. Erm." He was blushing quite fiercely now. "Your pardon, for the fourth time…"

"It's all right." Kaoru stroked gently at Ayame's hair. "Ayame. It's time to wake up."

"…don'wanna wake up…" she muttered.

"If you don't wake up, you'll have to sleep outside all night," Kaoru warned. "Wouldn't you rather sleep in your nice warm bed? With Mr. Bear and Dolly?"

Ayame grumbled a bit more but sat up and opened her eyes, yawning hugely. Kaoru gathered her in her arms, gasping a little at her weight.

"You're almost getting too big for this, little sister," she said fondly. "Honored husband, if you don't mind, it might be easiest for you to carry Suzume home…"

"One doesn't mind at all," he said, smiling up at her with a strange, hopeful look. Kaoru was peripherally aware of Tae watching, always watching, her face as bland as a theatre mask and giving none of her thoughts away.

She was suddenly, fiercely unconcerned with what Tae thought.

They didn't really speak on the walk back. Lord Himura walked beside her, not three steps before, and he did it as casually as he had asked her to help him that morning. As if it simply hadn't occurred to him to do otherwise. He stole the occasional glance at her, but they didn't burn quite as fiercely as his previous ones: they were softer, almost reverent. Or maybe she had simply gotten used to the way he looked at her.

It was easier to detach Suzume from his arm when there was a bed to transfer her to. He hesitated as she tucked them in, withdrawing slightly, and then, very carefully – watching her and waiting for her response – he reached out and patted them each once on the head, face alight with a tender smile.

"Sleep well," he murmured, and stood. She remembered her father doing the same thing, and for the first time it didn't hurt. It only ached a little, like a wound half-healed.

_He'll do right by ya, if y'let 'im_.

Kaoru kissed her sisters goodnight and stood, facing her husband. He swallowed, eyes bright with something she had no name for. There was something growing between them, fragile as a soap bubble, and for the first time she didn't feel the urge to shatter it.

"Well," she said. "Shall we go to supper, honored husband?"

"Ah. Yes," he said, and nodded as he smiled.


	8. my only wish I dare not say

**A/n: BAM. As promised.**

**Also, happy birthday to me! I'm now officially old enough to know better.**

* * *

The summons from Lord Tokugawa had come halfway through the morning meal. Kenshin had had just enough time to finish eating and change into something more formal before heading for the gardens of the Middle Interior. He'd found the shōgun sitting on a raised platform beside an ornamental lake choked with lily pads, watching a woman – one of his wives, by the elegance of her clothes – preparing tea. Kenshin stopped a few paces away, uncertain whether or not he was permitted to interrupt. Lord Tokugawa waved him forward.

"Don't linger, Himura. Come, join us."

Not _that_ formal, then. He was probably overdressed. Stifling a sigh, he bowed at the edge of the platform and settled himself. Lord Tokugawa nodded slightly, then returned his attention to the ceremony. Kenshin occupied himself with trying to figure out what was going on. There were hundreds of subtleties to the tea ceremony based on setting, season, number of guests and time of day, and Kenshin had never quite been able to keep them all straight. Or even most of them. Lucky for him, only the host needed to really master the details. The guests' roles didn't change much from ceremony to ceremony, and as long as he paid attention he could usually keep his head above the water.

He guessed that this was one of the shorter versions, and since the tea was almost ready he'd come in about halfway through. The lady served them; Kenshin accepted his cup with a quiet compliment and a glance over at Lord Tokugawa. He wasn't hiding a smile, so Kenshin had probably gotten the etiquette right. It was a blessed thing, he thought idly, that Lord Tokugawa seemed to enjoy his occasional lack of refinement; it turned what could have been a serious hindrance into an amusing affectation. No one dared publicly scorn him for being the occasional beat behind as long as their lord found it to be a tolerable eccentricity.

"The breeze is refreshing, isn't it, Lord Himura?" The shōgun sighed meditatively. "It's good to have a moment of peace in these troubled times."

"It is, my lord," Kenshin murmured, and tried to decipher the deeper meaning. There was always a deeper meaning, with Lord Tokugawa.

It was nearing mid-morning and the rain hadn't started yet. In fact, it was shaping up to be a fine day: the sky was clear and the air was warm, but not as intolerably hot as it had been before the rains finally came. It would be nice to have a few days proper summer before the rains ended and the muggy August heat began. Maybe he could take Ayame and Suzume out riding, if the Lady Kaoru permitted it… maybe she would want to come along.

Maybe he should stop getting ahead of himself. They had spent time together yesterday, after dinner, going over the paperwork. They'd even talked a little about things unrelated to the administration of the province – mostly her sisters, and how they were doing in their studies. But it hadn't been more than idle chatter between acquaintances, and that was a _good_ thing. Whatever he might feel…

Those excuses were feeling thinner and thinner, lately. It had to be her choice – but why couldn't he at least ask her to choose him? He wanted to her to be happy; was there anything wrong with trying to prove to her that _he_ could make her happy?

…_aside from the fact that I'm partly responsible for the death of her father and the downfall of her clan, nothing_, he thought wryly, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep it from showing on his face. And yet – when he'd reached out to her yesterday, in his office, she hadn't turned away, and she hadn't stayed only out of duty. At least, he didn't think so. She'd seemed too genuinely surprised for that.

She'd _thanked_ him. And after dinner, _she'd_ reached out to _him_, not the other way around: she'd been the one to bring up the agreement to resume the lesson that evening. They'd worked together until they were both yawning, and _she'd_ been the one to suggest that they make a habit of reviewing the paperwork together.

He'd agreed, and not entirely for selfish reasons. He did need the help, and she was an excellent teacher. If his heart beat a little faster when she leaned across him to grab a stray form – if sharing the workspace had her sitting close enough that he caught the trailing scent of her perfume – what did it matter, as long as she was there of her own free will?

"So," Lord Tokugawa said, setting down his cup. "How goes your investigation into the murders of Sir Yoida and Sir Narita?" His voice was deceptively mild.

Kenshin's eyes widened for a moment, caught off-guard. Then he remembered Sano's message.

"There is a potential lead, my lord," he said, relieved to have _something_ to offer this early on. "One intended to begin pursuing it more fully today, in fact…"

"I see. That's good." Lord Tokugawa seemed to sigh, then. "However… Kame, dear, will you excuse us for a moment?"

The woman bowed.

"Of course, honored father," she said, standing, and wandered off into the gardens. Not a wife, then. She stayed within earshot, but far enough away that she wouldn't overhear so long as they spoke quietly. Lord Tokugawa waited a moment, and then continued.

"It's not enough, Himura," he said, sliding into a businesslike demeanor. "I need you to find the killer before the week is out, if not sooner."

"My lord?" Kenshin froze, teacup halfway to his mouth. "That is – the investigation only commenced two days ago. One is still sorting through the information collected by Lord Hondo, that I am."

The shōgun made a sharp gesture. "Dismiss anything Lord Hondo gave you. He will mislead you."

Kenshin had the most disconcerting feeling of the world shifting beneath him, as though an earthquake was rattling the ground where he sat and nowhere else.

"Your pardon, Eminence," he said carefully. "One is uncertain of your meaning, that I am. Is Lord Hondo not a trusted member of your privy council?"

"He is," the shōgun said, serenely enough. "For the time being, it pleases him to be; he will not move openly against me while I still hold power. However, if the situation were to change – if the balance of power were to shift against me… well, he is a man of significant cunning, and has never failed to grasp an opportunity when it was presented to him."

Slowly, Kenshin put his tea down.

"And the balance of power is shifting?"

"It may well, if this murderer goes unchecked much longer. Soon the whispers will begin: that I am growing old and feeble, that I have lost control of my own retainers. Or worse, that the bargain I struck fifteen years ago has driven me mad and lead me to unleash my demon on my innocent followers for imagined slights. After all, the murders could only be committed by one capable of inhuman speed – and there is only one swordsman in Japan _known_ to be capable of such a feat."

"My lord." Ice lodged itself in Kenshin's heart, spreading cold water through his veins. "Surely – but one has not, would never – "

"You know that," Lord Tokugawa said shortly. "I know that. What surety do the others have? A legend is a double-edged sword. I had thought you wise enough to see how it could be used against you – against us all."

"I – " Forgetting himself, Kenshin cast about for some thread of sanity to pull himself ashore. "But – Lord Hondo was the one who told me that Sir Yoida was likely to be the next victim – "

"An interesting fact of which I have already taken note. If Lord Hondo should feel inspired to end his life honorably sometime in the near future, you will know why. However, Himura, in the meantime," and here the shōgun picked his cup up again. He drained it to the dregs and examined the pottery with a careful eye, noting every flaw – intentional and otherwise.

"In the meantime," Lord Tokugawa continued, "I can do nothing. Not without proof that Lord Hondo seeks to strike against me through you. You must protect yourself, Himura. And your family." He traced a single fingertip over a pale indent where the dripping black glaze had run to one side, leaving a white smear like a falling petal. "How is your lady wife, by the way?"

"She is well, my lord," Kenshin said, throat tight.

"Lady Kame says that she thinks you polite. Very polite, apparently." There was a glint of good humor in his eyes and Kenshin allowed himself to relax, fractionally. It had only been a reminder, then, that there was more than his own life and reputation at stake. As if he could forget. "And the doctor tells me you refused his services?"

"They were not necessary," Kenshin bit back a more visceral reaction. "The situation – "

And here he faltered, because he could not say that it was no concern of Lord Tokugawa's; the shogun had arranged the marriage as a political necessity, and its success was very much his concern.

" – the situation progresses as well as can be expected, that it does," he finished, lamely, and Lord Tokugawa shot him a knowing glance.

"You've bedded her, then?" he asked dryly, and shook his head with a sigh as Kenshin looked away.

"Listen, Himura," he continued after a moment's pause. "It's your nature to be gentle. Well and good – gentleness sometimes prevails where force would be meaningless. But not here." The shōgun raised a pacifying hand as Kenshin started forward despite himself, barely holding a snarl behind his lips. "I'm not saying you need to hurt the girl. Just – stop holding yourself back. You're a good man; you treat her with honor. It's more than she could expect given the circumstances and she damn well knows it, so stop acting like you have something to apologize for."

Either the shōgun had spies in his household, or Lord Tokugawa knew him better than he'd thought. Kenshin supposed, rather glumly, that it was both.

"My lord." A muscle in Kenshin's jaw jumped slightly. "One has, in her eyes, much to apologize for, that I do. She has been sold to her enemy – "

"And did you ask for her?" Lord Tokugawa interrupted, voice sharp. "Did you say: I want _her_ for my own? No. It was her family that offered her and her family that sold her, not you. You only obeyed _my_ orders, as duty required. It could be said that I sold you as much her family did her."

"She does not know that, my lord."

"Then tell her so." He set his teacup down with a decisive _thud_. "Court her, if you feel you must. Only do it, and do it soon. She's your _wife_, man, the mother of your future children, not some stranger. Act like it."

It was the ache in Kenshin's temple that made him realize he was grinding his teeth. _Act like it_ – how? Barge into her room and demand his rights? Offer her the pretense of _choice_? She would never refuse if he approached her, even if he tried to assure her that the choice was truly hers.

The shōgun was watching him carefully, face calm as a theatre-mask and just an unreadable. With a single long breath, Kenshin brought himself under control and bowed low.

"One will take your words to heart, my lord. That I will."

It was, after all, the correct thing to say. Lord Tokugawa snorted.

"I'm sure you will." His gaze swept past Kenshin to the lake and its cloak of lilies. A few buds nestled gently in the round green leaves; there would be blossoms, soon.

When the shōgun spoke again, his voice was very soft.

"An old friend used to say, and I have found to it to be true, that our lives do not belong to us. The lady Kaoru knows this, in her blood and bone; all that she is belongs to others, to her clan and her province and her husband and his lord. She is samurai, born to serve. She has _never_ been truly free to choose her destiny. In fact, the only person involved in this – the only person in all Japan, really – who has ever had that freedom…" and here his eyes met Kenshin's again, "…is you, Himura. Consider that, while you're brooding over past sins. Dismissed."

"Eminence." Kenshin bowed again, stood, and left.

* * *

Kaoru's memories of the stables at Hito castle were warm, woodsy things, full of rich smells and low, happy whickers. Her father's hands guiding hers on the currycomb, and the strange wide slipperiness of a horse's back. The first time she'd ridden on her own she'd clutched the reins so hard that they'd left red marks across her fingers and palms, and her father had laughed, gently, telling her not to go so hard.

"He's your partner, Kaoru. Trust him, and he'll trust you," he'd said, and she'd been so _afraid_ to let go – but then she _had_, and they'd moved together like one thing, faster and faster until they flew and she'd thought that she would never be afraid again, ever, not when the world was full of such glory.

The stables at Edo Castle were much like Hito's, only bigger. Which made sense; Lord Tokugawa had more men, more horses. More everything. All of Japan, now – if he could keep it. It was strange to stand in the stables in the castle of the enemy – the enemy she'd been sold to – and remember her own so clearly. But a stable was a stable everywhere, so why wouldn't she only need to stand in one to remember what it was to be a child and safe, with the future ready to unfold before her?

She shook her head, once, and looked at Shirojo. A lady couldn't leave her house unguarded, after all, and a lord's wife least of all. He coughed, giving her an uncertain look, then sighed when she did not relent.

"Alright, m'lady. Just wait a moment." He bowed and jogged off down the hall. Kaoru waited with arms crossed, rehearsing what she was going to say to Yahiko when Shirojo fetched him. That was why she was here, after all, to give him a piece of her mind and order him home – not to dawdle in her memories like some ancient lady long faded, forever mourning her losses.

_How long must I go on lamenting?_

The fragment of poetry crossed Kaoru's mind unbidden, invoked by the image she'd chastised herself with: Komachi in her last days at Sekidera, the great poet withered and broken in her tiny hut. The beauty of the play, at least, had been worth Lady Kame's unsubtle probing at her feelings towards her husband.

_The living go on dying  
The dead increase in number  
Left alive in this world –  
How long must I go on?_

And a few weeks ago she would have told herself: forever. Everything was taken from you, _everything_, and you must never, ever permit yourself to forget that, even for a moment –

But that was before and this was _now_, and things had changed. Could change. If she allowed them to.

There had been something in her husband's eyes last night, when they'd finally left for their separate beds. Hunger, yes – but there'd been so much softness there, too, that she couldn't imagine what had changed except her own perceptions. He'd looked at her as though she was some kind of miracle and she'd thought: _no one should ever be this grateful_. Because what had she done, exactly, other than teach him what her father had taught her? She hadn't meant to give him a gift, but he acted as though she had…

Then, the next morning, Ayame and Suzume had appeared at the door while she was serving Lord Himura breakfast, hovering wide-eyed at the threshold with Tae behind them. He had blinked at them, pausing, and put down his bowl.

"Yes?"

Ayame had bowed, solemn and small, Suzume following just a beat behind and a touch more clumsily.

"Thank you, lord brother-in-law," Ayame had said. "We didn't get to say it yesterday 'cause we fell asleep, but you're supposed to thank people when they're nice." There had been a certain reserve in her voice, as though she was reading from a script, and Tae had inclined her head ever-so-slightly in approval

"Nice!" Suzume had crowed, and before Tae could stop her she'd toddled into the room and stumbled, almost knocking into Lord Himura. He'd caught her in time and set her on her feet, smiling that bright, little-boy smile. His _real_ smile, Kaoru had come to think of it, and been surprised that she did.

"Careful, now. And it's no trouble," he'd said. "One doesn't always give Miss Mouse the attention she deserves, that I do not. It would be a great comfort if one could rely on you to keep her company when one is unable to, that it certainly would."

Ayame's eyes had widened.

"_Can_ we?" she'd said, breathless, and Kaoru had covered her smile with her sleeve.

"If it's not too great an imposition," he'd said solemnly, and Ayame had beamed.

They'd talked about more than the weather, that morning. All business, of course – but there was a common ground between them, now.

_It seems it might be easier, if we're on the same side, so it might…_ he'd said, eyes, shy. _To understand, that is_.

Was she ready to accept that ease? _Could_ she – or would it be the final loss of herself and everything that she held dear?

If she trusted him, would she fall – or fly?

Before she could find the answer Shirojo came back. It took a moment for Kaoru to recognize the brooding stableboy trailing behind him as her cousin; Yahiko had done a very good job at his disguise, even down to the way he held himself, with rounded shoulders instead of a samurai's pride. His eyes widened when he saw her, and his mouth fell open and clicked shut, as though he'd swallowed a shout.

"Is there someplace out of the way where we can talk?" she said coolly. Yahiko bit his lip, looking suddenly guilty.

"Uh. Over here," he said, gesturing to a door in the wall. Shirojo strode ahead of them both and opened it, giving the room beyond a practiced glance. Kaoru marched inside, Yahiko only half a step behind. It was an old storage room, rarely used. The corners were packed with dust, and what equipment was left was both antique and very broken.

"This should do," she said, turning to face her cousin as Shirojo shut the door behind them. "Yahiko, what on earth – "

Before she could finish her sentence Yahiko had flung himself at her, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding on for dear life. She took a step back, startled, and looked wide-eyed at Shirojo. He seemed as bewildered as she was.

"How did you get out?" Yahiko asked, voice muffled. "I'm really glad to see you but you have to go back, what if he finds out you left – "

"What? Yahiko, what are you _talking_ about?" His grip on her loosened and she knelt, brushing his bangs out of his eyes. "What if who finds out I left?"

"The _demon_," he said, urgent. "If he comes back and finds out you're gone – "

"The demon?" And it took her a moment to remember; she filed her surprise away to mull over another time. "Do you mean Lord Himura?"

He nodded, looking at her like she'd grown a second head.

"Nothing's going to happen," Kaoru said, shaking her head. "Except he might ask where I went at dinner. And I'll tell him I went to the stables to see when his horse would be turned out, because Ayame and Suzume wanted to play with her later, and I went myself because I needed the walk. And that will be that," she said firmly.

"But…" Yahiko furrowed his brow, deep lines creasing a long path between his eyes. He looked like he had the day she'd convinced him, all preadolescent mischief, that planting his sweets instead of eating them would grow a candy tree. Skeptical – knowing not to believe, but at the same time almost wanting to. And not wanting to, also: because if he didn't believe, he'd get something he wanted. But if he did, he might get even more…

"You mean – you're not… he's not hurting you?"

"No," she said, holding his shoulders and looking into his eyes, willing him to believe. "He's not. Is that why you're here?"

She'd thought it might be. A moment later, he nodded.

"Well, don't worry," she said briskly. "It's not like that at all."

Yahiko narrowed his eyes, wary. "Then why is Shirojo here?"

"Because Misao was worried, too," she retorted. "Even though there's no reason to be. Ask Shirojo."

"It's true," Shirojo put in from his post by the door. "Like I told you, little lord, Lord Himura's not that kind of man. He may be a terror on the battlefield, but that's about all he terrorizes. Doesn't duel, even, regardless of the insult."

"So stop worrying about me," she said, picking up the thread, "and go home. Aunt Kyoko must be worried sick. I have Tae and Shirojo and if _they_ can't protect me, what do you think you can do?"

"More than you think," he retorted. "Just 'cause I'm little doesn't mean I don't have friends – "

He snapped his mouth shut, dismayed.

"Friends?" Kaoru's stomach lurched. "Yahiko, what do you mean?"

"It doesn't matter." He pulled away from her, scuffing at the ground. "It's just – you know, I can help. I'm not useless."

"You can help me by going _home_." She reached out to him again. He flinched away. "Things are still dangerous here. Especially for you – I can't protect you here, and it isn't as if we're Tokugawa allies. If someone found out who you are – "

"I'd tell 'em I just wanted to be Lord Himura's page, so I followed him out here to convince him," he said, and a certain pride flitted over his face. "They'd believe that."

Kaoru sat back on her heels, impressed. It was a good excuse – history was full of stories about spurned would-be apprentices camping out on masters' doorsteps, earning acknowledgement by their unrelenting determination. No one would think it surprising that Yahiko might try to follow in their footsteps.

"Still," she said, after a moment. "You shouldn't be here. I want you to go home. And tell your _friends_, whoever they are, that I don't need their help."

He twitched, guilt in his eyes, and she knew she'd struck home. So he had made some kind of bargain. Ice choked the breath from her lungs, and she fought to keep her face still.

"Yahiko." She lowered her voice, soft and urgent. "What did they ask you to do? And what did they promise you?"

"Nobody asked me _anything_," he protested, weakly. "And I didn't promise – "

"Don't _lie_ to me!" She snarled despite her best intentions. "If someone is plotting against my hus – against Lord Himura, I need to know! Just because they're his enemy doesn't make them our friends!"

"They promised me you'd be safe." He glared at her, defiant.

"And do you really think that would stop them, if me or the girls happened to be in the way, even by accident?" She stared hard at her cousin, willing him to understand. They might regret her death, her sisters' deaths, but if circumstances dictated – it would be deemed a necessary sacrifice. They were only women, after all.

Kaoru remembered, unbidden, that first rainy night: Lord Himura standing uneasily in the hall, with that terrible dye job dripping down his shoulders and begging her to tell him if he hurt or frightened her, so that he could make it right. And before, when she'd knelt with the poison tea in her hand and he'd asked her forgiveness, swearing that she and her sisters would never be endangered again…

Her cousin swallowed, hard, and looked away. Anger darkened his brown eyes, turned them almost black.

"What do you care what happens to him, anyway?"

Which was as close to an admission of defeat as she was going to get. Kaoru sighed, unable to answer – not because she didn't have one, but because she didn't understand the one she had.

"…there's a lot going on, Yahiko. Whoever you've made a deal with – they're just going to be a complication and things are complicated enough. Tell them the deal is off. I'll send a message to Misao and she'll make sure you get home safely." A thought crossed her mind. "For heaven's sake, Yahiko, have you even _met_ the man you're plotting to kill?"

"Well, yeah." He glowered. "What of it?"

"Did he seem like a demon to you?"

He thought about his answer – truly thought, and she knew that she'd hit some uncertain chord in him. The same uncertainty she had felt, was still feeling – how could a man with so much power, so much blood following in his wake be so kind?

Was he a monster who acted like a man, or a man with the strength of a monster?

"…No," Yahiko said finally, reluctantly, as if the answer had taken all his strength to give.

"You remember what my father always said, right?"

Yahiko nodded, and quoted. "Anyone may say anything they wish. It is a man's actions that will tell you his true nature. Remember what others have said, but never let them decide your opinion."

Kaoru shrugged. "Well, then."

Her cousin scowled, digging in his heels. Kaoru shook her head slightly, pushing her bangs from her eyes. She'd won, and they both knew it – only Yahiko would need some time to find a way to admit it without actually saying that she was right.

"At least think about it, will you?"

"…_fine_," he muttered. "I need to get back to work."

"Go on, then. And if you want to see me, just send a message with Shirojo or come to the house. I'll make sure he checks in on you, alright?"

Yahiko nodded, and left. After a moment to collect herself, Kaoru left as well.

* * *

There was a letter from Misao waiting for her when she returned to the manor, a chatty missive full of gossip and news of her pregnancy. Kaoru read it with a smile; when she was done, she held it carefully over a candle and waited for the second message, written in the margins, to reveal itself.

_Heard about the murders. Lord Himura framed. Aoshi investigating. Killer is hired assassin – Black Hat. Shirojo can find him. _

"So that's it…" Kaoru murmured, feeding the letter to the flames. She'd written Misao last night, asking for help – the messages had probably crossed midair.

A conspiracy to frame Lord Himura. To what end? He was close to the shōgun, but that was all – Hito was not an especially powerful province, nor did it have any ancestral loyalty to him. All that he had, he'd earned in his lifetime. Who could desire what he had enough, or hate him so much, that they would risk the shōgun's wrath?

More urgently, now that she knew what was going on, should she tell Lord Himura what she knew and risk revealing her most powerful allies, or let him go on alone? In any other situation… but this _wasn't_, this was an attempt to frame him for treason, and a traitor's family shared the traitor's fate.

She clenched her fists atop her thighs.

_I'll have to find out what he knows_. She would ask, tonight, how the investigation was going. That was safe enough. He'd talked about it a little last night, when they were going through the paperwork. She'd ask, and if he already knew about the conspiracy and Black Hat, then that was fine… and if not…

He had been willing enough to accept her help, yesterday. Had seemed, even, to appreciate it – no, not seemed, _had_. He'd done everything she told him to, and while he'd asked _why_ he'd never questioned her reasons or her expertise. He'd only asked in order to understand. She knew the difference, by now; she'd dealt with too many of her father's more conservative retainers not to.

And when she'd explained, he'd _listened._

_Maybe_…

Was that her reason talking, or the warm hope blossoming in her chest? That he might want to rule beside her, and not over her…

Kaoru shook her head, standing. She'd find out what he knew tonight, and plan from there. No sense getting worked up over what may never come to be.

For now, she needed to see to her sisters.

It was midafternoon before Ayame and Suzume were done with their lessons and free to visit the pastures. Lord Himura's horse – Mouse, now, and Kaoru didn't know what to make of the lightness in her heart when she thought of how the mare had been named – seemed glad to see the girls, or at least to see the treats hidden in their sleeves. She bowed her great head with a horsey snuffle, taking slices of honeyed pear from their palms with delicate lips. Offerings duly given, she consented to be made much of.

Kaoru lifted Ayame up to perch on the top of the fence, where she communed enthusiastically with the old mare, speaking at length on various subjects with no particular rhyme or reason. It was a good thing, Kaoru thought wryly, that horses didn't speak Japanese; otherwise poor Mouse would be quite at sea. As it was, Mouse seemed content to allow the small human to carry on as long as she was receiving her due admiration.

Suzume gave Mouse a few desultory pats and then squirmed to be put down. Kaoru let her go, trusting her to stay within arm's reach. And if she didn't, there were half a dozen guards in a ragged perimeter around the place, so they were hardly in any danger.

Kaoru leaned against the fence, watching her sisters, and wondered. Two weeks ago – had it really been such a short time? – she would never have imagined this scene. Two weeks ago, all she could see was a long slow death by inches, as her unwanted marriage drained the life from her.

Two weeks ago, her husband had been a stranger.

Was he any less a stranger now?

What did she know about him? That he was kind. That he treated her sisters gently, and they trusted him. That he listened to her, and asked for her help with things that he didn't understand. That he wanted her, badly, but had never touched her – except for that one night, in the storm, when he'd reached out and drawn a single strand of her hair through his fingers.

She touched her cheek, the memory of his flesh searing into hers. He'd looked so pleased with himself for making her laugh.

_I don't ever want to hurt you_, her thoughts whispered in his voice, soft and roughened with sake. _If I ever do something to scare you, or that hurts you, you have to tell me. So I can fix it. Please._

She knew that he smiled – when he truly smiled – with perfect innocence. And she knew that he moved faster than the wind, and men fell before him like grass before the flame. She knew that he could make a bloody rain.

And she knew that he did not draw his sword unless it truly _mattered_.

She knew that he had drawn his sword to protect her.

_How long must I go on lamenting?_

She hadn't started the war. Nor had she ended it. She hadn't even been _asked_ if she would serve as a sacrifice, only informed that she had been chosen: her compliance had been assumed. And she would have consented if her uncle had only asked,_ but he hadn't_. Why that mattered, she couldn't quite say – but it did.

Just as it mattered that Lord Himura _had_. He'd wanted her help and he'd asked for it, when he could have commanded. He'd _asked_, respectfully, deferring to her knowledge as though there was nothing odd or strange about a woman acting in a man's domain. And he'd _listened_ when she taught him: listened, and learned, applying himself to the paperwork with grim determination, as though they were an opposing army and all he had was a single broken blade.

Kaoru smiled a little, remembering. Lord Himura had a habit of pushing back his hair out of his eyes when he was concentrating, and he didn't always wait for the ink to dry before he picked up the paper he'd been working on. By the end of the evening his forehead had been covered in streaks, his fingers spotted black with ink. He'd looked at them with evident dismay, then laughed softly.

"Master always did say that one would come to regret neglecting one's calligraphy, that he did," he'd remarked, almost to himself. Almost, because he'd looked shyly at her out of the corner of his eyes, from underneath his bangs, as if he was hoping for a response.

"It wouldn't happen if you waited for the ink to dry, first," she'd said off-handedly, trying not to chide.

"Ah. That's so," he'd said, and smiled. She hadn't been able to stop her lips from quirking upwards in response.

Lord Himura cared about Hito, and he cared about her, and he cared about her sisters. Could her uncle say the same? So what, then, did she _owe_ her family – when it seemed that only her father and her mother truly valued her, and they were both dead and gone?

What would they have wanted for her? If they were here, now, listening to her thoughts – to her endless, circular, unanswered questions – what would they tell her to do?

Province first, family second, self last of all.

Who cared more for Hito – her uncle, or her husband?

"Big sister," Suzume tugged on her hem, startling her out of her reverie. "Big sister, where's lord brother-in-law?"

"He's on the shōgun's business," Kaoru said, crouching down. "And he won't be back until evening. Why?"

"Wanna play flowers," Suzume said, pouting slightly. It took Kaoru a moment to realize what she was talking about – although it made sense that last night's flower-crown had been Suzume's doing. She was weaving another one as they spoke, and finished it with a triumphant grin.

"That's very pretty," Kaoru said. "Who is it for?"

"Me!" Suzume crowed, setting it clumsily on her head. Then she got up and padded off towards a new patch of flowers a little further away, having picked her old spot clean. She sat herself down – more a fall than a sit, really – and started picking blossoms with careful deliberation. Kaoru shook her head, smiling, and turned to check on Ayame. The older girl was still chatting happily with Mouse, petting her nose. The mare had left off eating and was gazing intently at the little girl, almost as if she really did understand what Ayame was saying.

"How is Mouse?" Kaoru asked gently.

"She's okay," Ayame said. "But it's kind of lonely without other horses to play with."

Kaoru's heart tightened in her chest. Ayame had had a dozen friends in Hito – children of retainers and servants, and now there was only her little sister. Anything else was a security risk, here in Edo Castle where she was a daughter of the half-tamed enemy.

But it was this, or leave them to her aunt. And that Kaoru would not do.

"Well, then, it's good that she has you to keep her company, isn't it?" she said finally, smoothing down a cowlick in Ayame's hair. "Maybe there'll be a few more horses along soon, hmm?"

"Maybe," Ayame said dubiously. "Big sister, when am I going to learn how to ride?"

"Once things settle down a little more, I'll see what I can do," Kaoru promised. Ayame nodded and returned her focus to Lord Himura's horse, whispering some small promise in the mare's ear. Mouse snorted at her, raising a spate of giggles.

"Honorable lady?" said a voice from somewhere behind her. Kaoru turned to see one of the shōgun's retainers standing behind her. He bowed.

"Forgive this lowly self's interruption, but the honorable lady must accompany me at this time."

"What?" It came out unbidden; Kaoru's hand raised to clutch her collar and then she recovered herself. "Forgive me, honored sir. May I ask what this is about?"

"Allow this lowly self to explain, honored lady." The man took a step forward, slitted eyes gleaming with something too like pleasure. He had a long, narrow face, and there was a strange twist to his mouth like he was holding back a grin. She tried to take a step back but couldn't; she was caught between the fence and the wild-eyed man, who she was increasingly sure was no servant of the shōgun. Not with those eyes. _Killer's eyes_, she thought dizzily, and tried to keep the fear from her face.

"Of course," Kaoru murmured, heart thudding against her ribs. She rested the tips of her fingers against her lips in a demure expression of concern, calculating. If he moved, could she dodge far enough to one side? Would she have time to grab the dagger hidden between her breasts? And what about her sisters? They were within sword-reach…

Her eyes slid to the guards. None of them seemed to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. They were too far away to see – her own order. A silent curse slid from between her lips.

Something hard pressed into her stomach. His sword-hilt; he'd partly unsheathed it, preparing for a draw.

"If you scream," he said, pleasantly, "I will kill your sisters. Now, come with me."

* * *

The walk to the Lotus Blossom was long enough to clear Kenshin's head somewhat; he ambled along under the watery sunlight, doing his best to ignore the way the crowd shied and parted before him. He refused to repeat the dye experiment, and anyway, he was used to it by now.

Freedom. What a peculiar notion – that he was _free_ to do anything. He'd been free, once, and thrown it away. Was that what Lord Tokugawa had meant? That because he hadn't been born into this, because he'd _chosen_ it, he had no right to complain?

_Our lives do not belong to us_.

He knew that better than anyone. His life hadn't been his for ten years, ever since – ever since _she'd_ died, died for him, so that he would carry forward and what choice did he have, after she'd made him swear to live on?

Or had his lord meant that there was no sin in claiming his husbandly rights – that the Lady Kaoru knew her duty, knew what was expected, and that he shamed her by refusing to let her fulfill her purpose? Kenshin snorted.

"She has lost enough," he muttered rebelliously. "_This_ much, at least, one can give her…"

Choice. Lord Tokugawa had been right in that, at least – Kenshin hadn't chosen to marry Lady Kaoru any more than she had chosen to marry him. But only she had been _sold_; he had been _awarded_ the marriage, and the title, and the damn province with its too-large castle and too many lives looking to him, entitled to his protection. He had gained and she… she had been lessened.

The thought lurched in his stomach, churning up bile, and a passer-by gasped at the expression on his face. Kenshin forced his lips into a neutral, meaningless smile.

She was samurai, born to serve. She had never been _free_ – so what right did he have to take from her what little choice she had? He would _not_ approach her, not for that, never for that – never without her permission. He would not make the same mistake again. The world might conspire to see her made small, but _he_ would not. And what was the point of being a demon if you weren't allowed, every now and then, to break the rules?

He wanted to see her great – to give her the space to grow and see what she would become without fear and protocol smothering her. How far she would soar into the open sky… He wanted the spark in her eyes he'd seen last night to never fade again, to watch the fierce light in her face as she drew order out of chaos like water from a well, pouring it out to nourish the soil. He'd _seen_ her restraining herself, suggesting where she wanted to command, asking where she should have simply _done_. Because of him, no doubt – because she was still uncertain. Still afraid. He hadn't known how to tell her, so he'd kept silent, but…

"I will never reduce you," he murmured. "_Never_."

Born to serve, yes, but not a servant, and he would not make her one. Not even if his lord ordered it. There were some things that no man had a right to do.

The Lotus Blossom was shuttered and closed when he arrived. The entire neighborhood was quiet; this was not a place that lived in the daylight hours. Its denizens – and customers – came out only at night. Kenshin knocked on the door, waited a moment, and then stifled a sigh as an exhausted maid slid open the door, saw his hair, and flung herself down on her knees.

"Honorable lord," she gasped out. "H – how may this humble, worthless establishment be of service?"

"One has come to visit Sanosuke, that I have," he said politely. "Would you be kind enough to tell him of one's arrival?"

She paled. "Y-yes, honorable lord. At once. Please, come inside."

"Thank you." He stepped over the threshold. "One is sorry to impose."

"It will only be a moment, honored lord." She climbed unsteadily to her feet, careful not to raise her eyes, then bobbed a quick bow and scurried into the darkened hall. Kenshin stood in the foyer, not bothering to take off his shoes. He had no intention of staying here for long; if Sano wanted to talk, there were other places to do it, with fewer listening ears.

The maid padded quickly back after a few minutes, glancing anxiously over her shoulder at Sano ambling easily along behind her. He yawned, cracking his neck, and nodded when he saw Kenshin.

"Hey. What's up?"

"Sorry to bother you, Sano." Sano waved dismissively: _it's nothing_. "You left a message with the Lady Kaoru for me?"

"Yeah, that. Probably shouldn't talk about it here." Sano turned to the bewildered maid. "No worries, missy. Me an' Kenshin here'll be takin' off, but I'll be back tonight."

"Of course, Sir Sano." She bowed, doing a fair job of hiding her trembling. "Honored lord."

"C'mon, Kenshin, before you give the girl white hairs." Sano jerked his head towards the street. "Let's go for a walk."

Kenshin followed him out. Sano blinked blearily in the daylight, shoving hair out of his face, and studied Kenshin.

"How's tricks?" he said, after a few moments. "Somethin' up?"

"No," Kenshin said automatically. Sano raised an eyebrow. "Yes," Kenshin confessed, with a guilty grin, "but it's nothing to do with the current situation, that it's not…"

"Tell me anyway." Sano shoved his hands in his pockets. "Or – lemme guess. It's about your little missy, huh?"

"It's not – " Kenshin stopped himself, because it _was_ important, and he didn't want to lie to Sano. "We should discuss your information first, that we should," he said firmly.

"Alright." Sano swiped at his nose. "So there's this assassin-for-hire – independent, like – calls himself the Black Hat. Supposed to be some kind of magician. Rumor has it he's in Edo doin' a job for someone, pickin' off some samurai."

"A magician?"

"Yeah. Supposed t'be able to freeze people in place with a glance or somethin'. I dunno, just seemed like it might mean something."

"It might…" Kenshin frowned, staring off into the distance as the two of them wandered along the side streets. They were heading towards the castle, and Kenshin wasn't sure if it had been Sano's idea or his or simply coincidence; but he wanted, suddenly, to ask Lady Kaoru's opinion.

"If this Black Hat can paralyze his opponents…" Kenshin mulled aloud. "It could create the illusion of inhuman speed, that it could."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." There was a note of relief in Sano's voice. "So, want me to dig up more?"

"If you could." Kenshin could hardly do it himself, not with his red hair – he was too well-known in Edo. Any information he gathered would be tainted by fear. "It would be a great help, that it would."

"Got it." Sano slung an arm around Kenshin's shoulder and grinned, somewhat manically. "Now… spill, Kenshin. What's up with the missus?"

"Ah – it's nothing, Sano, truly."

"Don't make me shake it outta you."

"One – that is – well, you met her, did you not?" Kenshin asked, somewhat desperately. How could he explain what it had meant, that it wasn't _just_ paperwork, even though it was… "What did you think of her?"

"Me?" Sano sucked in a long breath. "Well, didn't really get t'know her but… seemed smart. Lotta spirit. Stronger than she looks, too. Why?"

"Um…" _Because I desperately needed to stall_, he didn't say. "That is…"

Sano gave him a very knowing look.

"Kenshin. Out with it."

Sighing, Kenshin gave in.

"One is – it is difficult to explain but it seems, perhaps – she might come, soon, to think of me as a friend, she might. And yet…" He outlined the rough content of Lord Tokugawa's speech, and the political need for heirs, and his own reluctance. Sano listened with a slight frown on his face.

"I ain't sure I get it," he said carefully, when Kenshin had finished. "I mean, you _like_ her, right? Y'just about melt when y'talk about her."

"One – yes. Yes, I do."

"An' she's startin' t'like you?"

"One – hopes so. At any rate, she seems… not as wary as she was."

"So what's the problem? She's samurai, she knows the score. An' once ya got her in bed y'can _finish_ convincin' her you're not a bad guy, hey?" Sano's hand twitched, as though he'd been about to make a lewd gesture and thought better of it. Sensible of him; Kenshin's jaw was aching again.

"_No_, Sano. One will not – " He groped for the words. " – diminish her."

"What d'ya mean?" Sano looked genuinely puzzled. Kenshin forced back a hot wave of frustration. Of course Lord Tokugawa wouldn't care, but he'd hoped that Sano at least would see the problem.

"One would never wish to – take liberties – with anyone," he murmured. "It is only that, with the situation being what it is, how can one even discuss the issue with her, without fear that she will, well…"

"That she'll do her duty?" Sano shrugged. "An' what's wrong with that? Hey, now!" He raised his hands to ward off a glare. "I mean, it's her decision, too! If ya think she's startin' to trust you, why _not_ tell her what the problem is?"

"It – to take more from her, when she has lost so much – it is _not right_," Kenshin said finally. "One wishes to – _give_ to her, never to take. To be a gift and not a duty…"

Sano's face cleared. He looked at Kenshin with a kind of gentle pity.

"You want her t'love you." He whistled, long and low. "Aw, shit, Kenshin. You're in deep, huh?"

Kenshin looked away. They were wandering along a river swollen by the recent storms, on the verge of overflowing its banks. Foam swirled along the surface, mixed with sticks and leaves that had been battered from trees by the rains, coursing unrelentingly towards the sea. That, at least, would never change.

"That I am," he said softly, and there was a kind of cold comfort in admitting it. Even though it could never – though he had no right to hope for such a thing.

Sano started to say something, and then a voice cried out.

"My lord!"

They turned to see one of Kenshin's men racing towards them, bowling the crowds aside. He skidded to a halt in front of them, gasping, and doubled over. Kenshin thought he recognized him – one of the Lady Kaoru's guards, Shirojo.

"What is it?" he asked, stomach knotting.

"The lady," Shirojo panted, holding out a letter folded around a scrap of blue cloth. "My lord – I swear to you…"

But whatever he was trying to say, whatever excuse or apology he was offering faded into so much background noise as Kenshin took the letter from his hands, letting the blue ribbon slide through his fingers as he read what he already knew it would say.

_The abandoned shrine to the water god in the marshes on the eastern bank of the Sumida river. Come tonight, or the woman dies_.


End file.
